


A Different Tide

by VagrantWriter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Bullying, Childhood Sweethearts, Consensual Sex, Conspiracy, Euron is his own warning, First Kiss, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Gore, Mild Sexual Content, Mildly Dubious Consent, Period-Typical Homophobia, Puberty, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-08-09 23:37:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 38
Words: 54,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16459229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VagrantWriter/pseuds/VagrantWriter
Summary: A reversal of fortune leaves Robb as an exiled bastard on Pyke. The circumstances may be different, but one thing remains the same: Theon and Robb are drawn to each other, even as forces beyond their control conspire to tear them apart.Can they survive malicious brothers, unsavory uncles, and court politics where any sign of weakness can get you killed or worse? Or will they end up paying the Iron Price to be together?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my role reversal AU. This should be interesting.
> 
> Many thanks to Iron_Dragon_Maiden for help with the slightly altered the prologue.

_I do not need another child running around_ , Quellon thought but did not say. He studied the boy they had brought before him. Red-haired, blue-eyed, rosy-cheeked—all colors that did not belong on the Iron Islands.

“I suppose,” he said slowly, addressing the greenlander they had sent to accompany the boy, “that this is not a request, or else a raven would have been sent beforehand.”

“His Majesty does not expect you to decline, no,” the man said. A thin smile stretched at his lips. “Consider it a show of loyalty to the new King.”

Quellon sighed. He had tried so hard to stay out of the rebellion—either side—despite his sons’ insistence. If he had called his own father the things they had spat at him— _coward, traitor_ —his hide would have been skinned, tanned, and left out in the sun to rot. But where were their harsh words now, when their would-be ally, Robert Baratheon, lay dead, broken at the trident, and those who had backed him put to the sword? No, he did not intend to follow in Baratheon’s footsteps.

“Very well,” he said, leaning heavily on the armrest of the Seastone Chair. “I shall take the boy on as…” He considered. “My ward.”

“King Rhaegar appreciates it,” the simpering greenlander said, as if Quellon had any real say in the matter. “He expects the boy to be treated well. He is his mistress’s nephew, after all.”

Dead mistress, yes. The woman who had started this whole mess. Well, perhaps the Mad King had _started_ this whole mess. It made little difference. Both were dead. Funny how even Rhaegar’s allies ended up in their own graves.

The red-haired boy stared up at him, lip trembling. His blue eyes were shot with red. Eddard Stark’s bastard son. Born the legitimate heir to Winterfell, until Rhaegar—or, Quellon suspected, Queen Elia—had annulled the marriage between Ned Stark and Catelyn Tully. Benjen Stark, once the youngest of four siblings, a superfluous son, now held Winterfell. Poor bastard. Lady Tully was expected to make a new heir to a new House with the new husband Rhaegar had provided her, her son stripped of his name and whisked away so that he might not pose a threat. At a young age, the boy had learned what every Ironborn already knew: No matter how high your birth put you above others, you could always be toppled; real strength was clinging to your birthright against all outside forces.

Rhaegar was foolish to allow his fondness for his mistress to dictate his treatment of this boy, this Robb Stark— _Robb Snow_. The child should be killed. It’s what Quellon himself would do. Horrible though it was, children—even exiled bastards—grew up to seek revenge.

“Tell the King not to worry,” Quellon said. “I will treat him like one of my own.”


	2. PART I: Age of Innocence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this fic turned out, like, really, really gay. Like, _super_ gay. So sorry for anyone looking for a "canonical" AU. I couldn't help myself.
> 
> Also, be sure to check out the altered prologue, thanks to feedback from Iron_Dragon_Maiden.

Maron and Rodrik were tormenting the bastard again. “Little Lord Bastard’s too good for breakfast, eh? Well, we made you up something special in the kitchen.” That was Rodrik, holding the old fisherman’s bucket, while Maron tried to shove the boy’s head in. They were all suitably distracted; it should have been easy to sneak past them, unnoticed. 

Unfortunately, Theon was not as quiet as he’d hoped, and three sets of eyes darted up and pinned him in place, frozen halfway across the empty hall.

For a long time, nobody moved. Outside, waves crashed against rocks. Seagulls screamed.

Theon considered his options. The most obvious, and obviously smartest, would be to run—either back the way he had come or make a dash for the other side of the hall—and hope his brothers were too immersed in their fun to give chase. Secondly, and perhaps a little more risky, he could join in with them, officially take his role on the second lowest rung of the ladder. Let the shit roll downhill. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit it was a tempting choice, to no longer be the focus of his brothers’ cruelty.

Theon stood vacillating between the two—never really considering the third option—but then the boy looked at him. God, but he had the biggest eyes Theon had ever seen. Blue and brimming with tears. His face was a mess of snot and drool, but the eyes pulled Theon in. Pleaded with him.

He had to admit, there was a certain pleasure at the thought of refusing that plea, the power that came from offering help or withholding it based on his own whim. But even more than that, he saw his own reflection looking back at him, when his brothers pushed his face into the sand and held his head underwater as the waves beat against him.

His father, standing where he was now. _“Fight back and they won’t be so hard on you. They’re only trying to toughen you up, boy. God knows you need it.”_

Or Dagmer, shoving Maron back, pulling Rodrik off. _“Is that you provin’ what big, strong lads you are? Pushing over someone weaker than yourselves? Can’t find anyone your own size to take on, eh? Piss off.”_

And they had. Muttering darkly to themselves, but they had pissed off.

A dangerous idea came to Theon then. _Perhaps I can stand up to them, and perhaps they will respect me for it._

“Uh…ah…” He took a step forward, and they all stared at him as if he were a cockroach skittering towards them. _Leave him alone_. “I think you should…” _Leave him alone_. “Stop doing that…” _Leave him alone_. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Again, nobody made a move or a sound. Waves continued to crash against rocks. Seagulls continued to scream.

Then Maron released his hold on the boy’s shoulders and stood to his full height. He was a lanky youth, not quite as broad and muscled as Rodrik, though a year separated the brothers, so he had time to catch up. He hit harder than Rodrik, certainly, as if compensating for his lack of bulk. He also wore a patchy beard on the pretense that it made him appear older. Mostly it made him look like any of the ratty sailors Theon saw down at the wharf. He had a lumbering step as he lurched forward.

Theon took a step back.

“Have your balls finally decided to drop, little Theon?” Maron asked. He had a ghastly grin on his face, and Theon had the distinct impression his attempt at bravery had backfired. Of course they weren’t going to stop just because he’d told them to— _asked_ them to. They only listened to Dagmer because he was bigger than them. Maron towered over him, nearly twice his height. “You going to be Lord Bastard’s knight, eh?”

Theon lowered his eyes. “I…”

“No, I understand,” Maron interrupted. “You want to defend your lady love. Well…” He thumped his chest. “Go on then.”

Theon continued to stare at the floor.

“What? Not even going to take a swing? Some knight you are.”

The punch shouldn’t have caught Theon by surprise, but it did. Right in the stomach, knocking the wind from him. He collapsed to his knees. Then, as he tried to right himself, Rodrik upended the bucket over his head. A fountain of rotten fish heads cascaded over and around him. Their mouths gaping, glazed eyes staring up at him. He barely had time to register the smell before the bucket itself slammed over his head and plunged him into darkness.

His brothers’ laughter rang through the metal, but there was no further attack. Their boots clicked on the stones and their laughter faded, but only once it was completely gone did he dare lift the bucket. He found himself kneeling amidst a pile of fish heads, and the bastard staring at him, looking like a fish himself with his mouth open.

“What are you staring at?” Theon snapped, disturbed by how his voice quavered.

The bastard quickly averted his gaze, instead staring intently into his lap. “Sorry.”

Now Theon knew why his brothers beat him. Seeing something that pathetic made him want to hit it. Instead he tossed the old bucket away. It clattered against the floor, causing the other boy to flinch. Slowly, he stood, trying not to slip in the slime. He could only imagine what he smelled like.

“Are you alright?”

Theon sniffed and began picking scales off his skin. “They could have done worse.” Which was true. They could have and they had before. But it also made him sound nonchalant. As nonchalant as one could be covered in rotten fish heads.

The other boy didn’t look impressed, though. He looked sad. “Thank you.”

Theon snorted at that, even though what he really wanted was to cry. Go to his secret place where no one would ever, ever find him and cry there, all alone. But he was six years old now, and he couldn’t cry.

“I’m Robb.”

“I know who you are.”

“And you’re Theon. You’re the littlest Greyjoy.”

Theon glowered darkly at him, and he shrank back. “I’m not little.” But he was. He was the littlest.

The other boy wiped his snotty nose with the hem of his sleeve. “You’re bigger than _me_.” And offered an uneasy smile—more of a grimace, really. “I’m sorry you got covered in fish.”

Theon sighed. “I need to get cleaned up.”

He turned to go, but heard the patter of feet following behind him. Curious, he looked over his shoulder to see the other boy standing behind him, like a red-haired shadow.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The boy—Robb Snow—shrugged. “Wherever you’re going.”

“I’m going to get cleaned up.”

“I’ll help you.”

“You’ll help me? Get cleaned up?”

Robb nodded enthusiastically.

Theon considered a moment. He mostly just wanted to be alone. His secret place was by the ocean. He could clean up down there, tell his mother the reason he smelled like salt was because he had gone for a swim. But…the boy wanted to help him. He wasn’t sure what to do with that.

“Alright,” he said at last, mostly because he noticed Robb’s breeches were wet and gritty from being on the floor. “We’ll get one of the servants to draw a bath and get some clean clothes for us.” He thought of something Rodrik had said. “Have you really not eaten breakfast?”

Robb made a face. “I don’t like…fish.” This last part came almost as a shameful admission. And on the Islands, it _was_ a shameful admission. Most of their food came from the sea.

“I’ll have someone bring you something from the kitchen then,” Theon said. “Something without fish.”

“And…” Robb hesitated, but Theon nodded for him to go on. “Nothing…in a shell, please?”

“Nothing in a shell,” Theon agreed. “Maybe…chicken.”

Robb beamed, much more certainly this time, and took Theon by surprise by grabbing his hand. His palms were also wet and gritty, not that Theon’s were any better. “Yes, please, I would like that very much.”

“All right,” Theon said, in his best big brother voice, “but you have to promise not to tell anyone what happened.”

“What happened?”

“About me…not being able to fight Maron and Rodrik.”

Robb just squeezed his hand tightly. “ _I_ thought you were very brave.”

Theon didn’t know it then, but he fell in love with Robb that moment. Just a little bit.


	3. Mazes and Madmen

Robb was lost again. Pyke made no sense to him. Winterfell was bigger—or at least spread out over a bigger area—but the hallways were straight and did not bend at odd angles or lead off into corridors that went nowhere. Every time he thought he knew where he was going, that something looked familiar, he would find himself at another dead end, another window grimy with sea spray and bird shit, another balcony leading out to an endless drop into the ocean. It felt like a madman had built this castle.

It would not surprise him if the Ironborn were, all of them, descended from madmen. King Rhaegar was punishing him, sending him out here to live among these madmen. He remembered thinking it on the journey out, with the ship rocking violently all around him and his stomach rocking violently within him. He still felt the ghost of it in the pit of his belly, even when the ground was perfectly firm under his feet.

He trailed his hand along the walls. The stones were cold, but dry. Dryness was a rarity here. Warmth even more so. He turned the corner and—no, he was back in the great hall, with the servants clearing out the remnants of the morning’s meal.

Disheartened, Robb made his way to the fireplace, with the cold embers from last night’s fire. He wished he could feel the ghost of warmth as easily as he felt the ghost of seasickness.

He remembered fires back at Winterfell, sitting on his mother’s lap or at her feet while she worked her needle. The quiet murmuring between her and Uncle Benjen when they thought he had drifted off to sleep. About his father, about the rebellion. Robb didn’t understand it, but the rhythm of their voices was comforting, like the steady crackling of the fire.

Staring at the ashes now, in a castle far from Winterfell, he remembered something Benjen had shown him. He dipped his finger into the ash and smeared it on the wall, leaving a black mark. _I will mark the walls,_ he thought, _so that I know where I’ve been_.

Would he get in trouble for something like that? He looked over his shoulder. None of the servants were even looking at him, let alone telling him he shouldn’t be marking the walls.

He turned back to the smear on the wall. It would be easy enough to wipe off, afterwards. The shape he had left looked a little like an upwards-pointed arrow. On a whim, Robb wetted his index finger for more charcoal and smudged a few more lines on the shape, feathering his arrow. No, not an arrow. A tree.

There were no trees on Pyke. Not that he had seen. He missed trees, their green. Wide, rolling fields of green. Flowers. He missed his mother’s red hair as she brushed it out in the mirror, humming to herself. He missed color.

“What are you doing?”

Robb whirled around to find Asha standing dangerously close to him. Asha had never been mean to him, nor particularly interested in him, but she was frightening in her own way. There was an intensity to her gaze that said she would plow over anything in her way. Robb quickly wiped his charcoal-covered hand on his tunic. “Nothing.”

Asha looked at him, then at the wall. “You’re drawing?” It wasn’t a question so much as an incredulous statement.

“I was…making marks…so I could find my way around.”

She pulled his lips into a tight line, and it almost looked like she was going to laugh at him. “There are already marks for that, you know.”

“What?” Curiosity made him lift his head and look her in the eye. “Really? Where?”

Asha pointed to the nearest corner, down at the floor. Hesitantly, and looking over his shoulder every few paces, Robb made his way over to where she was pointing. There was something there. It was hard to make out—the castle was not very well-lit—so he knelt down for a better look, keenly aware that he now had his back to her. He hoped it wasn’t some trick and she was going to kick him into the wall or something like that.

There was something carved into the stone itself. He brushed his fingers along the engraved symbol—rough and intricate at the same time. Four intersecting lines creating eight spokes, and each spoke had a different mark.

“That’s the compass the old sailors used.” Asha’ voice was close to him, and he nearly fell over in surprise. “This outward-facing arrow…” She pointed to the spoke nearest them. “If you follow it straight, you know you are heading west.”

“West,” Robb repeated.

“And the one next to it, with the three prongs, is southwest.”

“Mmm,” Robb agreed, studying the symbol with renewed fascination.

“There’s one in every room,” she continued. “Some you have to look for, but they’re there. And once you know how to read them, you can’t get lost.” She stood and brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face.

“Thank you.”

She looked at him, first in surprise, then in disgust. “I’m not here to teach you how to find your way around. But if you’re going to live with us, you have to learn these things. You can’t just rely on people to help you. Especially not Theon.”

Robb’s heart turned to lead. Did she know Theon had helped him? Saved him from Rodrik and Maron? He hadn’t told anyone. He’d kept his promise. “Why not?” he asked.

She looked at him like the answer was obvious, but before she could say anything else, a loud voice crowed from across the room, “Asha! Get the fuck over here!”

Robb flinched, but Asha just turned around and hollered back, “Piss _off_ , Rodrik!”

Rodrik came ambling up to them, his thumbs looped through his belt. He gave Robb a contemptuous look. “Sorry, Lord Bastard, no time to play with you today.” His gaze snapped back to Asha. “Father’s called a meeting. He wants the whole family there. Cock or cunt. His words.”

“Oh, I’m honored,” Asha said, matching his sneer.

“It’s about Grandfather.”

Her sneer fell away. She didn’t say a single word as she followed him from the room, didn’t even look back to acknowledge Robb in the slightest. He watched her go, only idly wondering where they were going but mostly glad Rodrik had not seen fit to pay him much attention.

Once they were gone, he turned his attention back to the compass. “West,” he said, tracing the spoke she had shown him. Which meant the one across from it would be east. The other directions were self-explanatory.

His finger left the slightest stain of ash against the stone, and he paused. The ancient sailors had thought to mark the stones to find their way around, long before he had. But he _had_ thought of it. Perhaps the ancient Ironborn were not complete madmen. Or perhaps he was a little mad himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll find lots of Viking references in the liberties I've taken with Ironborn culture. The symbol Asha points out is a stand-in for [vegvisir](http://mythologian.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/Vegvisir-The-Runic-Viking-Compass-Symbol-of-Protection.jpg), an rune of protection and guidance that was possibly used as a compass, though there seems to be no concrete evidence for this.
> 
> Also, Asha will be playing a much larger role later in the story, but for now you'll mostly see her lurking in the background.


	4. Funeral and Family

Uncle Aeron’s words rumbled in a steady monotone, rhythmic like the waves on the shore but with far less cadence. Words about the Drowned God and His hallowed halls. Theon wasn’t even listening. He was watching his grandfather’s body, bobbing along in the surf.

He felt a sharp nudge to his side. “Stop crying,” Asha hissed. “They’re watching.” Her eyes flickered to Maron and Rodrik standing by their mother, and their father and uncles wading in the ocean’s water. He quickly wiped his eyes and held his lip firm.

Aeron finished speaking. “What is dead may never die…”

“…but rises again, harder and stronger,” Theon found himself reciting with the others gathered on the shore.

Father and Uncle Euron and Uncle Victarion launched Grandfather’s body into the ocean. Everyone was silent, watching and waiting for the tide to take it, for Quellon Greyjoy to join the Drowned God’s hallowed halls or else be sent back. The body did catch in the tide, though, and Theon felt the collective breath of relief. It was over. It was done.

They headed back for the castle, climbing the treacherous slope up from the beach. Theon was proud of himself for not grabbing his mother’s hand. He did not even slip once.

Once inside, the men headed for the throne room. Alannys nudged him. “You should go with them,” she said. “It is important.”

Theon nodded, though he did not really want to. He had to sprint down the hall to make it before Balon had closed and locked the doors. “Mother says I should attend,” he explained to his father’s contemptuous look. With a grunt, Balon stepped aside and let him in.

The throne room was cold and bare, the only bit of ornamentation the throne itself—the Seastone Chair, its arms the tentacles of a kraken. His grandfather had sat there so long. It seemed even more barren without him here. There was nowhere else to sit, so Theon stood by the wall, next to his brothers. Balon closed the doors with a loud, echoing thud and then turned to join his own brothers gathered around the throne.

Everyone was silent for a long time.

“Balon is the eldest,” Aeron said at last. “Unless one of you wishes to contest his claim…”

“Do _you_?” Balon asked.

“I already serve the Drowned God.”

“But mayhaps you could serve Him better from the throne?” Euron said with a sly smile.

Theon pressed his back to the wall. He was not good at hiding his terror of his oldest uncle. Neither was Aeron, though he could at least mask it with distaste.

“I do not contest our brother’s claim,” he said, and he looked like he was chewing on glass as he spoke. “And if I did, I would not put myself forward as the heir.”

That seemed to satisfy Balon. He turned his gaze to his other brothers. “Do you accept my claim?”

Euron scratched at his stubble on his neck. “What are your plans, dear brother?”

Balon clenched his fist. “I would lead the Iron Fleet against the mainland, reclaim our grasp on the sea and on our lands.”

“You’re speaking of rebellion?” Victarion said.

“Aye.”

“And how well did that work out for Robert Baratheon?” Euron said, folding his arms over his chest. His smile had, if anything, grown wider.

“The throne is weak, their forces depleted,” Balon said. “If we are to wrest our independence from the mainland dogs, _now_ is the time to do it.”

Victarion’s lip curled. “Aye, we must strike now. Our father loved peace too well. The mainlanders have forgotten the strength of the Ironborn. If you lead us, I will follow, Balon.”

A sharp snapping noise caused Theon to look over. Rodrik was cracking his knuckles. “Finally, something interesting is going to happen on these rocks. Never understood why Grandfather stayed put during all the fighting on the mainland.”

“Because he was a coward,” Maron said.

Theon thought of Robb and his father, who had been killed in the fighting. “I don’t want Father to die,” he said, quietly, but from the way Maron and Rodrik looked at him in disgust, he might have shouted it at the top of his lungs. “What would become of us if Father died?” Would he be sent away from his home, the way Robb had? Would he become a bastard too?

“If Father dies, I’ll be Lord of Pyke,” Rodrik said with a smirk, “and I’ll be the one to lead us in battle. It’s as simple as that.”

“Don’t you worry, little Theon,” Maron said. “No one expects you to fight. You can stay here, with the women and children.”

Theon’s face burned.

“What think you, brother?” Euron asked, his ghastly grin directed at Aeron. “Balon means to start a rebellion.”

Aeron drew in a deep breath through his nose, and recoiled violently when Euron reached out to poke his shoulder. “Do not touch me,” he hissed. Regaining himself, he addressed Balon, “I would advise against it.”

Balon stiffened. “I thought you did not mean to oppose me?”

“I am not opposing you. I am advising. Consider, you urged our father to join the rebellion on the side of Robert Baratheon. If he had listened to you, would any of us be standing here now?” He gestured to Balon. “You would certainly not be poised to take the Driftwood Crown. Look what happened to Baratheon, to Stark.”

“Perhaps our forces would have turned the tide of battle,” Victarion said.

“Perhaps, but is it a gamble you wish to take into your hands? The gamble that if might be _our_ castles sacked, _our_ women raped, _our_ children taken…” His eyes slid to Theon, who quickly looked down. “That redheaded boy you’ve inherited from our father should be evidence enough of why going against the throne is, perhaps, a poor decision.”

“They are weak,” Balon insisted. “We need to strike now. And if you do not support me…”

Aeron raised a hand to stay him. “I offer my support, fully. I will personally preside over your crowning, and whatever you choose to do afterwards, I will also support.” He placed a hand over his heart. Theon couldn’t help but notice how long and twisted his fingernails were. Dressed in his priestly garb, he truly looked like the skeleton of some long-dead seaman crawled its way from the ocean. “I merely advise you to consider your…” He cast his gaze back to Theon. “Legacy.”

Balon stroked his chin. “Very well. I will consider it.”

“You will consider his cowardice?” Euron sneered.

“ _I said I will consider it_ ,” Balon snapped. “And I expect everyone on this room to respect my decision.”

Silence reigned and he looked about the room. Nobody spoke up. Nobody dared.

“Good. Aeron, begin preparations for the crowning. And tell the maester to send out the news. Balon Greyjoy is now Lord of the Iron Islands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel Balon may be a little OOC in this chapter, but there will be an explanation later for why he ultimately decided to nix the idea of a rebellion...for the moment.
> 
> Next chapter we finally get back to Theon and Robb.


	5. Sickness and Secrets

“House Harlaw.” Maester Ulric looked at him expectantly.

Without any hesitation, Robb reached out a hand, his arm still a bit shaky from the chill, and jabbed his finger at the correct place on the map spread before them. “Lords of Harlaw Island,” he recited duly. “Their keep is Ten Towers.” He indicated the eastern side of the island. “That’s Lady Alannys’s House.”

He wasn’t sure how he felt about Lady Alannys. She had never been unkind to him. Quite the opposite actually. But there was something about the way she looked at him, with eyes full of pity. Robb did not like her looking at him like that, and so he avoided her. And her kindness. Kindness was hard to come by on the Iron Islands, but he could not take it for the price she asked of him, that she continue to pity him.

Maester Ulric nodded. “Very good.” A thrill at the praise, no matter how small, filled Robb. “I’m glad to see you’ve been studying during your sickness. Speaking of which…you did take your medicine today, yes?”

“Yes, Maester.”

“Good, good. Now, let’s continue.” He tucked his hand behind his back. “House Codd.”

Robb shifted uncomfortably in his seat before pointing to the correct spot. “House Codd,” he murmured. “Descended from thralls, salt wives…”

Maester Ulric raised any eyebrow.

“Bastards,” Robb finished in a tiny voice, then withdrew his hand and set it in his lap.

Ulric’s face softened. He came around the table and placed a hand on Robb’s shoulder. “Yes, House Codd comes from baser stock, but they are still a noble house. They have paid the iron price for their land and title, a price heavier than gold. The iron price allows even bastards to rise above their lot.”

“Yes, but everyone hates them,” Robb said. “It even says so in their house words. And anyway, they were bastards who were raised up. I’m a bastard who…” He bit his lip to keep from finishing.

And now Maester Ulric was looking at him with the first hint of pity. He took his hand from Robb’s shoulder. “Let us not push too hard. You are still recovering, after all.” He nodded to the door. “You are dismissed for the day.”

Robb nodded gratefully.

He supposed Ulric meant for him to go back to bed, but his sheets were stale from four days of shivering sweats, coughing, sneezing. (It was the weather. It was too damp here.) Instead he found his way out to the courtyard, where Dagmer was teaching Theon how to nock an arrow. Robb leaned against the cold, wet wall and watched the way the bow quivered as Theon fought to get it under control.

“Aye, that’s it,” Dagmer said, steadying hand on Theon’s back. “Pull tight. Watch yer fingers. Loose.”

Theon did. The arrow flew a dozen paces before skidding against the stones. Robb studied the look of frustration on his face, the way his brows folded over his eyes, the way his jaw clenched up. Robb could read him better than he could read his letters.

“No, no, you got the right idea of it,” Dagmer said. “You just need t’put more _force_ behind it, is all.”

Theon nodded, but from the defeat on his face, it looked like they’d been at it a while. Then his eyes flickered up. The defeat fell away. He never looked at Robb with pity, only a genuine happiness to see him. The only thing that came close to pity was a quiet commiseration between the two of them as allies against Maron and Rodrik.

Dagmer caught their eye contact and took the bow from Theon’s unresisting hand. “Why don’t you take a break now, Master Theon?”

Theon smiled as he crossed the courtyard. He was older than Robb and had lost more teeth, but he wore his gap-toothed grin with pride. “I’ll have my adult teeth soon,” he’d say, “and then I’ll be a man.” His smile faltered slightly as he came closer. “Are you supposed to be out of bed?”

“I’m feeling much better,” Robb said, grabbing Theon’s hand. “Maester Ulric gave me the rest of the day off, since I’ve been studying so much.”

Theon’s smile came back, now with just a hint of teasing to it. “You’re mad to study when you’re sick. If you keep it up, they’ll call you Robb the Reader.”

“It was boring in bed.” Robb tugged on his hand again. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. I was really worried about you.”

“It wasn’t _that_ serious,” Robb insisted.

“Grandfather died of a cough,” Theon insisted back.

“I’m fine. And anyway, I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t go looking for you outside in the rain again.”

“Mmm.” Theon looked down at their joined hands for a moment before squeezing back. “I decided something while you were gone.”

He made it sound like Robb had been away, somewhere else. He’d been here the whole time.

“What did you decide?”

“I’m going to show you where I was hiding, when you were out looking for me.”

Robb’s heart pattered up into his throat. “Your secret place?” He knew Theon had a secret place, but he’d never been able to find it and Theon had never shown him. Had in fact been quite angry to find he’d been snooping around for it. “Are you sure?”

Theon nodded and then he was pulling Robb along. “I was worried about you. I thought you might…” He didn’t finish his thought. “I want to share it with you. But you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

“Never,” Robb agreed. He was very good at not telling people about things that went on between the two of them.

Theon took them out through the courtyard and around the outside of the castle. The rocks of Pyke were jagged and unforgiving. Robb clung to the stones of the seawall as they made their way down to the shore, where waves crashed against more jagged and unforgiving rocks. And then the seawall was gone; either the sea had washed it away or the ancient builders had given up halfway through construction—possibly both. Robb wouldn’t have blamed them. He couldn’t imagine how anyone had managed to build _anything_ here. Some nights, with the sea lashing against the cliffs outside his window, he imagined the whole castle falling into the waves.

People were not supposed to live out here.

Theon held his hand tight as he led the way. The rocks were perpetually slick with moss and slime. It would be easy to fall and bash your head against their craggy edges. Robb held on just as tight.

At least until he saw the hole in the stone face. A deep, dark, tiny hole only big enough for a man if he doubled over to squeeze inside. Someone his size—or Theon’s—would have no trouble. And yet Robb did not want to go in. He pulled back.

Theon did not let his hand go, though. “It’s through there.”

“It’s dark.”

“It’s alright. It lets out on the other side. I’ll hold your hand.”

Robb took a deep breath, as if diving underwater. _It lets out on the other side. Theon says so, and I trust him_.

They started forward. The darkness quickly swallowed them up, until only the light from behind was visible. The walls were wet and slimy, and something moved under his hand. His gasp of surprise filled the tunnel, echoing.

“Up ahead,” Theon said. His hand was like an anchor. “Not much farther now.”

“How did you ever find this place?” Robb whispered. Theon must have been very brave to have plunged into this cave for the first time.

“I’m good at hiding,” Theon answered. “Look, up ahead.” He pointed, and Robb found that he could see his finger pointing. There was light up ahead now. It was almost painful, even after being in the dark for just that little bit, and Robb put up his hand to shield his eyes as they came out on the other side. When he could see again, he drew back in surprise. Theon had to steady him. “You alright?”

“I just…didn’t realize there was color on the Iron Islands.”

Theon smiled and drew him down to the tide pool, where water had puddled in shallow basins in the rocks—purple starfish clinging to the rocks, blue crabs skittering in and out of crevices, an orange octopus pulling its way from one pool to the other. Robb knelt down and poked at it, was delighted when it turned an angry red and shrank back from his touch. He brushed his hand along fuzzy vegetation and found it both soft and slimy, and fascinating.

“This is my secret place,” Theon said, tucking his feet under himself to sit down. “Well… _our_ secret place now, I suppose.”

“Thank you for showing me,” Robb said. And then sneezed.

Theon laid a hand against his forehead. His skin was freezing cold. “You’re not completely better. You should be inside where it’s warm.”

“Can’t we stay here, just a little bit longer?”

Theon was quiet a moment, then drew Robb in and began rubbing his back, as if trying to get some warmth into him. “Fine,” he said. “But just a little bit longer, alright?”

“Alright,” Robb agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter dedicated to Theon and Robb's childhood, and then things start to get a little heavy. New warnings are coming.


	6. Storms and Schemes

It wasn’t the howling wind or the crashing waves or the battering rain against the window that woke Theon. It was the slight creak of his door and the small voice. “Theon, are you awake?”

Theon groaned as he sat up. “Robb?”

“Can I…stay here with you…tonight?”

A flash of lightning illuminated the room, and Robb’s pale face peering in through the crack in the door. Then it was dark again, and thunder cracked, so near and so loud it shook the very foundations of the castle itself. The windows rattled in their panes. Robb sprinted across the room and jumped into his bed.

Theon pulled the covers over him and hugged him tight until the other boy’s violent shaking gave way to shivering. “It’s just a storm,” he said. “It will pass. Like the one before and the one before that.” You’d think Robb would be used to the storms by now. But at nearly nine years of age, he still fled to Theon’s room every time. Theon knew he should rebuke him, tell him that he was too old for this nonsense—it’s what his father would say, it’s what Asha would say if he ran to her—but in truth, he did not mind it so much. He liked having someone to protect, someone who needed him.

Robb clung to him, so warm. Almost too warm, the two of them together under the thick blankets. They settled back down onto the pillows.

Another flash lit the room, and Robb’s pale face. The next crash was, if possible, louder than before. Robb whimpered and buried his face into Theon’s chest. “I hate the storms.”

“It’s just the Drowned God,” Theon whispered back. “He won’t hurt us.”

“Maybe He knows I worship the Old Gods,” Robb murmured. “Maybe He’s not happy with a heathen living here.” He was silent a moment, his face serious in thought. “I’m going to join the Night’s Watch.”

“What?” Theon blurted, startled by the abrupt shift in conversation.

“When I’m old enough,” Robb elaborated. “I talked to the Night’s Watch brother who was here a couple days ago.”

Yes, picking up prisoners to conscript. He must have left disappointed, only a handful of new recruits in tow. Those few law breakers the Iron Islands did imprison were not keen on ending their lives at the edge of the world, so far from the Drowned God’s halls.

“He said even bastards and traitors’ sons could become men of honor and respect,” Robb said. “He told me there would be a place for me…if I wanted it.”

“Why would you want it?”

“Because I don’t belong here.”

“Of course you belong here.”

“No I don’t,” Robb said forcefully. “I _don’t_ belong here. And I can’t go back to Winterfell. But maybe King Rhaegar will let me go to the Wall.”

“Then…you’re going to leave?” Left unspoken: _Me? You’re going to leave_ me _alone here? With Maron and Rodrik?_

“Well…you could come too,” Robb said. “I thought…we might go together. The Night’s Watch brother said they take plenty of second sons.”

“And third sons?”

“Third sons and fourth sons.”

“It’s cold at the Wall.”

“It’s cold here.”

“No.” Theon leaned his face in close so that Robb could feel the warmth of his breath; he could certainly feel Robb’s. “It’s warm here. The two of us.”

They were not chest-to-chest, and yet Theon could feel Robb’s heart pounding. As lightning flashed again, he thought it might be loud enough to drown out the thunder. It wasn’t. Not quite. Robb’s grip on his shoulders became almost painful.

To ease him, Theon poked him in the ribs. “What are you going to do if there’s a storm at the Wall?” he teased.

“And you’re not there?” Robb scrunched up his face. “Hmm…I guess I’ll just pretend you _are_ there.”

“You’re not going to find someone else to run to in the middle of the night?”

“No,” Robb said defensively. “Someone else would just laugh. Or worse. And I don’t _want_ someone else.” He settled in closer. “You really won’t come with me…if I go?”

“If you go to the Wall,” Theon said. “We could go somewhere else, though.”

Robb lifted his head. Theon could not make out the color of his eyes in the dark, but he knew it just the same, had memorized the exact shade, just how wide his pupils were when he was excited. “Where?”

“I don’t know. Just not the Wall.”

“Alright, not the Wall,” Robb said. “But we’ll go somewhere. When we’re older.”

“When we’re older,” Theon agreed, and this time Robb hardly reacted when the thunder roared. But perhaps that was because it was quieter this time. The storm had reached its peak and was moving on. “We’ll find a place for both of us.”

“And you’ll let me sleep with you when there’s a storm.”

Theon smiled. He should dissuade him of ideas like that. He really, really should. “Of course I will.”

 

***

 

The adults were fighting again. It was about Euron again.

“His behavior is unacceptable,” Alannys said.

“Do not presume to tell me how to handle my own brother, woman,” Balon bellowed.

“Then _I_ will presume.” Areon’s voice held the same ice it had that day in the throne room. “He cannot continue to do as he will. Today it is one of your lady wife’s handmaidens. Tomorrow it may be one of your children.”

Theon felt his skin prickle at the way Aeron said _children_.

“This was an attack on you, Balon,” Victarion said. “He’s been testing you ever since you took the Seastone Chair. If you can’t see how this was a mindful act to undermine your authority—”

“Enough,” Balon said, though his voice was much calmer now. “I will speak to him. Tell him there are certain things—people—that are off limits.”

They were speaking more softly now, and Theon had to press his ear against the door to make anything out. He did not hear anyone approaching, but rather felt the shadow fall across him. “What do you suppose they are talking about in there, little Theon?”

He jerked back and found himself staring up at Euron himself, right into his dead eye. He pulled away with a startled yelp.

Euron chuckled. “Eavesdropping?”

“N-no.” Theon shook his head in vehement denial.

The dead eye could tell the truth. It could see right through him. Tell what he was thinking. Every thought he’d ever had. God, he wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Like a night terror. Euron was like a night terror. No, more like one of the Drowned God’s storms. _We worship Him best when we are afraid of Him_ , Aeron had told him once.

Euron reached out and ruffled Theon’s hair. Theon felt the entirety of his skin jump, as if it meant to slough off his bones. “I’m sure the affairs of adults hold no interest to a child.” Theon was too terrified to be rankled. “Why don’t you run along and play? I hear tell of your little…companion.”

Theon hated that Euron knew about Robb. He hated that Euron might have seen Robb, maybe out practicing with Dagmer in the courtyard or maybe passing him in the hall. It sent angry chills down his spine to think Euron might have touched Robb the way he was touching Theon now. And he could not say why. Just that Euron should not touch Robb, or look at him, or know about him.

“I’m sure the two of you have some…hidey hole you can lock yourselves away in while the adults speak.”

The way Euron smiled, it was like he knew. In that instant, Theon had no doubt. _He knows about the secret place. It’s not safe there!_

He turned and ran. Euron’s laugh followed him, ringing off the hallway. It was still ringing in his ears as he scrambled over the rocks towards the secret place. He tripped, felt a sharp pain in his knee, but kept going. Through the cave and out onto the other side, to find Robb sitting by the tide pool, poking at an urchin with a stick. Theon clambered to him and grabbed hold of him, even as the other boy squawked in surprise.

“Theon, what—?”

“Did he see you coming in?” Theon interrupted.

“Who?”

“Euron! Ayone!”

“N-no, I don’t think—Theon, your knee.”

He looked down, saw his pant leg had been torn open, a thin mist of blood bubbling up through on his skinned knee. He brushed at it. His hands were damp with seawater—clinging to the slimy cave walls—and the salt stung.

Robb set his stick down and tried to pull the torn cloth together. “You should go to the maester.”

“It’s not that bad,” Theon said. It stung, but it certainly was nothing to get Maester Ulric involved with. His mother would need to mend the breeches though. “Are you alright?”

“Me?” Robb blinked. “I’m fine.”

“Nobody saw you come here? To the secret place?”

He shook his head. “No, and I’m already very careful. And I haven’t told anyone, I promise.”

“I believe you,” Theon said. “I believe you.” He swatted Robb’s hand away from his knee. “But we must _continue_ being careful. If you ever see Euron, you must come right to me.”

“If I _see_ him? Why?”

“Because he’s dangerous,” Theon said, “and you need to stay away from him. And he can’t ever, ever know about the secret place, alright? Not ever. Do you promise?”

He must have sounded serious enough, because Robb nodded. “Alright,” he said. “I promise.”

Theon hugged him close and felt a measure of his panic subside as Robb hugged him back. “I just want you to be safe.”

“Maybe _you’re_ the one who needs to be safe sometimes, Theon,” Robb whispered into his ear. “I hope you’ll let me protect you…when you need it.”

 

End Part I


	7. PART II: Age of Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the new tags as they appear. Even though nothing terribly graphic is depicted, there will still be some not-safe-for-children moments. For the "underage" tag, Theon is 13 in this section and Robb is 12 (I have aged him up from canon). Some of the content will be age-appropriate (though non-graphic) puberty exploration, and some of it will definitely be less innocent.

Robb watched Theon draw back the string, pause imperceptibly—imperceptibly to anyone but Robb, that was—and loose the arrow. It sang through the air and struck the target with a _thwack_ , hardly a finger’s width from the bull’s-eye. Robb had to keep himself from applauding, though he did allow himself a smile. Theon lowered his bow, looked over his shoulder, and smiled back.

Robb immediately felt a strange tickling sensation in his stomach again. The one that he had been noticing more and more recently. The one he only seemed to get when Theon smiled at him. It didn’t feel like he was sick but…maybe he should ask the maester. He couldn’t say it was _unpleasant_.

Theon looked away as Dagmer came up and clapped him on the shoulder, and the tickling sensation went away, leaving a strange disappointment behind.

“Yer doing good,” Dagmer said. “You’ve come a long way. You’ll be a marksman in no time.”

“I’ll be a man in no time,” Theon shot back with a playful, cocky grin.

“Aye.” Dagmer grinned back. “Your name day’s not too far off, now, is it? Can’t believe it will be thirteen years. You know, you’re the first Greyjoy I saw raised up from a babe.”

Theon’s face grew slightly pink, and Dagmer laughed.

“When I was your age, I was learning the ropes of a ship. So, tell you what. Come your name day, I’ll put in a word with your old man about taking you aboard, showing you what’s what to being a true Ironborn.”

Theon’s eyes widened. His mouth fell open. “R-really? Th-thank you! I—I won’t disappoint you.”

“I know you won’t, lad.”

Theon turned to look at Robb, a look of _did-you-hear-that?_ on his face. Robb did applaud then, to show Theon he had and congratulations.

Dagmer noticed him and acknowledged him with a nod. “Mayhaps Master Robb would like to learn as well?”

“Me?” Robb hopped down from his place on the wall. “But I’m not…”

“No need to worry about common roots, lad,” Dagmer said. “I’m more common than you by far.”

“I mean, I’m not Ironborn.”

“Ah, I won’t hold it against ye. We just need t’put a bit of salt in yer blood, that’s all.”

Robb considered for a moment. He’d never envisioned himself at sea. Memories of seasickness still haunted him, especially when the ocean was unsettled. He’d probably just end up embarrassing Theon by vomiting all over the deck.

Theon seemed to read his mind. “You can’t stay on this rock for the rest of your life,” he said, quite sensibly.

That was true. If he and Theon were to go somewhere, he would need to get over his discomfort around ships eventually.

“Alright,” he said at last. “But…you have to promise not to let them throw me overboard if I’m not very good at it.”

Dagmer threw back his head and laughed heartily, though Robb really hadn’t been joking. “Don’t worry, Robb. Nobody’s tossing you overboard.”

He dismissed them both for the day, and they hurried to put their training equipment away. While Theon became better and better every day with his bow, Robb just didn’t have the right aim. Dagmer found he had some promise with a battle axe, though, and Robb couldn’t wait until he was strong enough to wield a genuine, full-sized Ironborn blade.

He took a moment to study the ones hanging in the armory as he dumped his training axe in a pile of other blunted weapons. They were intricate, sharpened to a fine edge. He’d seen them take men’s fingers off, simply handling them without care.

Theon came up behind him, humming one of the sea shanties Dagmer had taught him, and carefully put away his bow and quiver. Robb wasn’t especially looking forward to going out on a ship again, but he was happy that Theon was happy. Some hesitancy must have shown on his face, because Theon stopped and turned to him.

“You don’t need to be nervous about it,” he said. “I’m sure Maester Ulric has something for seasickness.”

“What if I’m no good at it?” Robb asked.

“What are you talking about?” Theon laughed. Then, without warning, he spun Robb in a quick circle and clapped his hands over his eyes, plunging him into darkness. “Quick, what direction are you facing?”

“South-southwest,” Robb answered immediately.

When Theon took his hands away, he was smiling, and the tickling in Robb’s stomach was back. “Nobody knows directions better than you.”

Because he had spent so much time studying the castle’s compasses. He allowed himself a bashful smile at the praise.

“You’ll be great at it,” Theon said. “One day I’ll have command of my own ship, and you’ll be my first mate, and we’ll sail all over the world. We’ll be famous all the way to Essos and the Free Cities as the most fearsome pirates on the seas.”

“Is that what you’ve decided?” Robb teased.

“Better than your idea of going to the Wall. We could go to the Summer Islands, where it’s always warm. Or we could go to far off Yiti and steal a palace’s worth of gold. We could even go to Sothyros and come back with stories no one has ever heard before.”

“You’ve thought about this.”

Theon grabbed his hand. “Of course. And then, when we’re rich as kings and the terror of the seas, we can sail into King’s Landing with an army, just to place a boot in Old King Rhaegar’s royal face. I mean…if that’s what you want.”

Robb hadn’t thought about that. He had never met King Rhaegar, the man who had killed his father and ordered him taken from his home. He loomed like a shadow in the corner of his mind, never really taking shape. Would he want that?

“Well, you can decide that later,” Theon said, after he took too long to answer. “In any case, we have to start by getting you on a boat.”

Robb didn’t know what prompted him, but as Theon continued to prattle on about their plans, a strange force overtook him. The tickling in his belly was the most likely culprit. He never would have done it otherwise. Theon was taller than him, so he had to stand up on his tiptoes to reach. But he did. And when Theon swung his head around in surprise, Robb leaned in.

And kissed him.


	8. Kisses and Cautions

Theon pulled away in surprise. He hadn’t been expecting—

And then Robb pulled away, a look of dawning horror on his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have…I wasn’t thinking…”

“Were you, uh…” Theon felt his face heat up. “Were you reading my thoughts?”

Robb’s eyes popped open. “Huh?”

“I…I was thinking about…how much I would kiss you…if you were a girl.”

Robb lowered his eyes. “Oh.”

“But then… _you_ kissed _me_ —”

“I’m sorry!”

“—and then I was just thinking…how nice it was.”

“Oh!”

“So…”

Neither of them said anything for a moment.

“I should have asked,” Robb said.

“It’s fine.”

“I shouldn’t have done it.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.”

Robb was not the little boy he’d been when he’d first come to Pyke. He was taller, and though still thin, his gangly limbs were quickly giving way to corded muscle. Theon was acutely aware of the faintest hint of dark-red scrub on his cheeks. He was not softness and curves and the things Theon was supposed to like. And he did like those things too. But more and more often lately, it hadn’t been softness and curves that had been appearing in his nightly dreams.

Again, Robb seemed to be reading his mind. “Is it wrong?”

Theon leaned down—it wasn’t _too_ far—and pressed his lips against Robb’s. He felt Robb go stiff, then relax, then kiss back. Their teeth clacked together.  Their tongues didn’t seem to know what to do, so ended prodding around. When they pulled away, the inside of his mouth felt wet, which was a strange sensation since he’d never particularly thought of the inside of his mouth as _dry_. Nothing about it should have been exciting, but it was.

“It doesn’t feel wrong,” he said.

“It feels right to you too?”

“It feels right, but…”

“…but we should keep it between us,” Robb finished. Maybe he was a witch. Theon had heard somewhere that the Starks had some strange power to shift into animals, and their blood did run through Robb’s veins, even if he was a Snow. Who knew what other powers they had? Reading minds? Telling the future?

“It could be dangerous if anyone found out.” His father. His uncles. Maron and Rodrik. Euron. He shuddered.

“Another secret,” Robb said with a smile. A sad smile.

“Another secret,” Theon agreed.

They both reacted at the same time, meeting each other’s lips halfway. Hands tangled in hair, grabbed at a shoulder, pulled at the back of a neck. It was almost like wrestling, but not wrestling.

Definitely not wrestling.

It left him just as breathless, though.

“Someone will wonder what’s taking us so long,” Robb pointed out.

“Right, we’ll finish up and meet somewhere to continue,” Theon whispered, and his heart thumped at the eager nod Robb gave him. “The secret place?”

Robb nodded again and smiled. His lips were swollen, his face flushed.

They split up outside the armory. Part of keeping the secret place secret was never being seen going there together. So Theon let Robb head off while he turned to wander around the courtyard, his head light. It felt like a knot had been untwisted from his stomach.

The things he’d been feeling about Robb lately, the things he’d been trying _not_ to feel about Robb…it had been difficult to hide them. He had never entertained the idea that Robb might feel the same. Because it was a dangerous idea. But now…

Pyke didn’t feel so bleak today. He came upon an outcropping along the seawall, and as he leaned against the damp stones, he could picture a ship out on the water. His ship. And Robb at his side. They’d sail far away from here, somewhere they wouldn’t have to hide.

He turned as he felt someone come up beside him.

“Distracted?” Asha asked, taking the place next to him. She was still taller than him, though he was quickly bridging the gap in their height. The breeze whipped against her hair as she pinned him with an unusually serious expression. “Where is your redheaded boy?”

Theon bristled. There was an implication there, though he wasn’t sure what. “What business is that of yours?”

“Because you’re not as discreet as you seem to think you are.”

He turned sharply to look at her, but she didn’t turn to look at him. Her gaze was focused somewhere in the distance. Did she know? Or was she talking about something else?

“You went into the armory with him,” she said, as casually as if remarking on the weather. “You came out considerably more winded than when you went in. I can assure you, if I noticed, someone else noticed too.”

It felt like someone had grabbed his throat and squeezed.

“I’m not saying anyone did notice,” she continued, “just that you need to be care _ful_ , and you were rather care _less_.” Her eyebrows knitted together as her eyes scanned the horizon. “People like us can’t afford to be careless.”

“People like…us?”

She did look at him then. Her expression incredulous, then turning sympathetic for a moment before becoming wry. “Children of Balon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands, of course,” she said with a smirk. “We have to be careful who we consort with. Wouldn’t want Father to look bad, now, would we?”

“Right,” Theon said, now slightly confused.

She pushed back from the wall and slapped him on the shoulder, with surprising force. “Be careful who sees you spending time with the redheaded boy, alright?”

“Al…right?”

She nodded and turned and walked off, leaving Theon completely baffled. But Asha was like that. Offering bursts of sisterly advice and then seemingly revoking it.

He’d probably waited long enough to let Robb get to the secret place, but Asha’s warning had unnerved him, so he decided to wait just a little longer. She was right, of course, much as it galled him to admit. He couldn’t afford to be careless. Though he was not sure what his father would do if he found out. Nothing good, certainly. Would he berate him? Beat him? Exile him? Hurt Robb?

This last option sent him into cold sweats.

He clenched and unclenched his fists as he paced around. He couldn’t wait any longer. With a determined step, he headed for the secret place, casting furtive looks over his shoulder to make absolutely sure he was not followed. It seemed as though he had no company except the seagulls. He was alone.

No, he wasn’t alone. There was someone coming towards him, scrambling across the rocks, away from the secret place. He saw the red hair before he saw the torn clothes, the tear-stained face.

Robb stumbled, and Theon ran to him, nearly tripping several times. Robb reached out for him. He was trembling. His clothes…they’d been ripped, his doublet and breeches. God, his hands and knees were covered in blood. Fresh blood. He flung himself against Theon, sobbing so hard into his chest Theon couldn’t understand what he was saying.

“What is it?” Theon pulled him back, running his hands through his hair and along his face. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Robb’s face contorted in pain. “Rodrik,” he gasped, drawing in a shaky breath. “He was there. He…he…”

“He what?” A lump caught in Theon’s throat. “What did he _do_?”

But Robb just shook his head and buried his face in his bloody hands.


	9. Glass and Gashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the new tags. There is homophobia-motivated sexual assault in this chapter.

Robb could barely contain himself, slipping and nearly cracking his head as he fumbled through the cave’s opening. It had become a little more difficult to get through, as both he and Theon had grown in height since their early days of sneaking off, while the cave remained the same size, but it was worth the squeeze to know they would be safe from prying eyes.

The tickling in his stomach had become a full buzz as he popped out on the other side, near the tide pools. The kisses they had shared— _shared_!—in the armory…he wanted more of them. He sank down on his haunches. This was the best way to sit to keep your bottom and knees dry. He knelt and watched the pools of shallow water while he waited for Theon to join him.

The sea creatures were active today, crawling, skittering, flitting. The tide had brought in a few tiny fish, trapped them as it had receded. They were pale blue, with little yellow spots. They darted about, looking for a way out. But they would just have to be patient and wait for the tide, the way Robb was waiting for Theon.

His head popped up when he heard scuttling from the cave. A hand appeared out of the darkness, feeling around for a handhold on the rock. The other hand held a bottle. Robb recoiled as the figure squeezed through the opening. It wasn’t Theon. It wasn’t Theon at all.

Rodrik took a contemptuous look around the tide pool, then turned his gaze on Robb. “So, this is where you get off to all the time.” He took a long swig from the bottle. It was already half-empty. He’d started drinking early today.

Robb stood and clenched his hands into fists. “What are _you_ doing here?” It felt _wrong_ for him to be here. He shouldn’t be here.

“Just wanted to see how you and little Theon perform your disappearing act.” He paused to cover his mouth, whether to stifle a belch or a retch, Robb couldn’t say. He recovered anyway and stumbled towards Robb. “Didn’t even know about this place.”

Robb considered Rodrik’s size, how close he was to the cave. He was quite drunk. Maybe Robb could sneak around and make for an escape.

“Where’s Maron?” he asked innocently.

“Fucked if I know,” Rodrik spat. “I’m not my brother’s keeper.” He paused and laughed and took a few drunken steps forward. “I do know where little Theon is. What the two of _you_ have been up to.” Still giggling, he swirled his finger at Robb, a sort of playful accusation.

Robb took a step back. “What have we been up to?”

“You buggering bastards really think I don’t know?” He took another long pull. “You know, Maron and I try so hard to toughen the little shit up, but you keep him soft. Little mainland bastard. We take you in, feed you, clothe you, but you’ve been laughing at us the entire time, haven’t you? Just like all the other mainlanders.”

“Wh-what?” Robb was truly baffled now.

“You’re all laughing,” Rodrik ranted, waving his bottle in the air. “Laughing at us. Calling us weak, cowards. ‘Oh how the mighty Greyjoys have fallen,’ you say. Our ancestors built these islands from the bones of monstrous sea creatures. We were the most feared ships on the sea—on any sea! And what are we now? Subjugated. Forced to bow to _your_ fancy customs, while you send your bastard here to bugger my brother.” He shook his head. “No, no, this can’t stand. I won’t stand for it,” he said as he stumbled and nearly fell.

Where had any of this come from? “Y-you’re drunk,” Robb stammered.

Rodrik just grinned and crooked his finger, beckoning Robb close. “Come here, Little Lord Bastard.” He laughed when Robb took another retreating step. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to _hurt_ you. I’m just going to shove this bottle…” He gestured with it. “Up your ass.”

Robb didn’t have time to register the threat before Rodrik lunged at him, surprisingly quickly. He grabbed hold of the front of Robb’s tunic. Robb pulled back. There was a horrific rending sound as the seams ripped, but he was free of Rodrik’s grasp.

Rodrik growled in frustration and tried again, but his movements were clumsy and Robb was prepared this time. He turned and ran.

“Come back here!” Rodrik howled after him. “You’ll probably enjoy it, you little fucker.”

Robb realized Rodrik meant it. He truly meant to use the bottle that way. His heart beat a frantic rhythm against his ribs as he clambered over the rocks. He tripped and fell. Rodrik’s hand clamped down on the waist of his breeches. Robb cried out and kicked back. He felt his boot connect with Rodrik’s face and heard Rodrik’s pained grunt. He kept crawling, dragging himself over the jagged rocks, trying to get to his feet but hardly able to in his terror.

“If you don’t come back,” Rodrik yelled after him, “I’m going to break this bottle and shoved the shards up your ass. Is that what you want?”

Robb didn’t respond. He had managed to get to his knees.

But before he could stand, Rodrik was on him, fumbling to grab hold of him. Robb fought against his grip. But Rodrik was just so _big_. He was a fully grown man, and Robb again felt like a helpless child being forced to eat fish heads.

_No, no, no_.

He lashed out with his arm, knowing it was futile. But he had to fight. He _had_ to.

His fist collided with Rodrik’s gut. Rodrik staggered back, arms swinging, wind-milling.

Time slowed down. Robb watched in horror as Rodrik toppled over backwards. He struck the rocks head-first. His limp hand dropped the bottle, and it broke into pieces amidst the splattered brain matter.


	10. Tides and Turning Points

Rodrik was dead. Lying in a pool of his own blood and brains.

“I didn’t mean to!” Robb cried.

He was still sobbing hysterically, but Theon didn’t feel anything. Not for Rodrik, at any rate.

“Are you alright?” He took Robb’s bloody hands in his.

Robb looked up at him in surprise. “It…it’s not my blood.” His eyes flicked over to Rodrik’s body. “I…tried to help him, but…”

He’d been dead when his head hit the rocks. Robb must have known it.

“What do we do?” he asked in a small voice.

Theon knew he should be panicking, like Robb. But he wasn’t. He felt just a calm sense of practicality. “We’ll dump him in the sea,” he said. “He’ll wash up somewhere else. They’ll find him and see that he hit his head. Nobody will know we were involved.”

“We?” Robb asked. “It was me. I killed him.”

“No,” Theon said with a shake of his head. “The idiot killed himself. Come on, help me move him.” He stalked towards Rodrik’s body, but when Robb hesitated, he was quick to add, “I’ll take care of his head. You just have to take care of his feet. I can’t…move him on my own.”

He wished he didn’t have to get Robb involved. He was still shaken from what had happened, both the attack and Rodrik’s death. Theon wished he was strong enough that he could kick his brother into the sea all my himself, spare Robb any further distress. He wished he’d been there to help Robb, wondered if that would have changed anything. With the two of them there, perhaps Rodrik would not have felt so emboldened.

Asha had been right. They’d been careless. The both of them. But it was Robb who had paid the price for it.

Together, they rolled Rodrik’s body along the rocks. He was heavy but still warm; stiffness had not yet set in. His face was still largely intact, but with every roll, Theon had to see the horror that was the back of his head, broken like an eggshell. He left a long trail of blood and gore behind them, but the tide would wash it away. Wash it all away.

They managed to dump him over the edge and into the water, but it wasn’t good enough. “Stay here,” Theon instructed as he began to wade out with the body.

“What—?”

“If we don’t push it farther out, the tide will just bring it back in.” He felt like a priest of the Drowned God, performing last rites for his brother. The body was easier to maneuver in the water, and he led it along beside him until he was chest-deep. Each lapping wave sprayed him in the face, coating his tongue and nose with the acrid taste of salt. He paid it no mind as Rodrik finally caught in the current and began to drift out. Then Theon waded back to shore, scrambled up on the rocks, and sat down next to Robb, who had calmed down and looked more shocked than anything.

“What now?”

They looked a mess, the two of them. Robb with his torn clothes, Theon soaked up to his chest, the both of them covered in Rodrik’s blood. They would need to clean up before they went back to the castle, and it was already getting dark.

“It was an accident,” Theon said. “They’ll see it was an accident. They just won’t know we were involved.”

Robb nodded and stood. “I want to get out of here.”

“We can come back later, when the blood is all gone.”

Robb shook his head. “It will never be gone. It’s always going to be there.”

“The tide—”

“I don’t ever want to see this place again!” Robb cried and made a run for the cave.

Theon hurried to catch up with him, grab his arm. “Careful!” he said. “You _can’t_ fall and hurt yourself the way Rodrik did. I don’t know what I’d do.” Robb was shuddering violently, so Theon pulled him in tight. “I’m so glad you’re alright. I can’t lose you, Robb.”

To his surprise, Robb pulled out of his arms, a wild look on his face. “Don’t touch me.”

Theon stared at him.

Robb’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he looked on the brink of tears again. “This only happened because we…” He trailed off.

“We’ll be more careful from now on,” Theon said.

He shook his head. “We can’t, Theon. Not even a little. Not even where we think it’s safe.” He turned and headed towards the cave, more slowly this time. “Don’t ever touch me again, Theon. Not ever.”

 

***

 

They found Rodrik’s body late the next day. Theon knew they had because he heard his mother screaming from all the way down the hall.


	11. Lips and Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains (brief, non-graphic) scenes of sexual exploration between two underage people.

Robb did not go to Rodrik’s funeral. It was lucky that nobody expected him there. Instead he locked himself away in his room, staring into his mirror and willing his face into impassivity. He would disguise himself, he’d decided. Bury his feelings for Theon and never let the world know.

There had been unmistakable hurt on Theon’s face when Robb had pushed him away. He didn’t understand. Robb did not intend to make himself a target, ever again. If Theon couldn’t see that he was protecting the both of them, then he didn’t understand anything.

It hurt, the first few days, to ignore Theon. To look away or turn the other direction when he saw him coming. It hurt in a physical way, like a sharp cut, to see Theon’s confusion and hurt.

He also found himself avoiding Maron. Which was nothing new, except Maron seemed to have taken to him like a bird of prey. Not menacing him in his usual way, but rather just…watching him. Like he knew. Waiting for him to slip up. All the more reason to avoid Theon.

He once caught Maron watching him at breakfast and so quickly engaged in conversation with one of the serving girls. She seemed startled at first when he addressed her, then flushed pink and gave him a smile. When he glanced back, Maron had looked away. And that was when he realized it—the best way to cast suspicion off himself and Theon.

He chatted the girl up in the dining hall, in the hallway when he saw her, even sought her out in the kitchens when he knew she was working. Her name was Eydis, and she was very flattered by his attention.

Robb kissed her for the first time in one of the hallways. Kissing her was not like kissing Theon. It wasn’t unpleasant, necessarily, but it felt odd. Not quite right. Her face was soft and smooth. Her hands were callused, though not from practicing with a bow but from working in the kitchens. She simply didn’t feel right, like a key that could fit a keyhole but not turn the lock.

One of the chamber maids caught them and scolded Eydis for “fooling with boys” while she should be focused on her work. Robb felt a little bad for getting her in trouble. She was a nice girl, after all. But it didn’t keep her away, and it was good that someone saw him with a girl and not with Theon. After that, he often found excuses to kiss her in places they might be caught.

One day, it was Theon. Robb had not planned that. He simply heard footsteps coming down the hall, so he grabbed Eydis and quickly pressed his lips against hers. And when he looked up with his practiced bashful/cocky grin— _oh, you caught me, how embarrassing_ —he realized it was Theon standing there, looking at them with shock. An awkward moment passed, hardly the blink of an eye before Eydis was pulling him back in for another kiss. Robb kissed her back as he heard Theon’s boots beat a frantic rhythm away from them.

 Later that night, there came a knock at his door. He knew who it was but answered anyway.

“Robb,” Theon said. “Is there…did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Robb answered simply.

“Was it something I said? I…I’m sorry if I… I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Robb said. In fact, there was quite a lot to be sorry for, none of it Theon’s fault.

“Oh.” Theon dropped his gaze to the floor. “Dagmer is taking me out on his ship tomorrow. Do you still…want to come?”

“No,” Robb answered.

“No?”

“No,” he repeated.

There must have been some finality in his voice, because Theon didn’t argue. He just nodded in defeat.

“Good night,” Robb said.

“Good night,” Theon said, and then Robb closed the door on him.

 

***

 

It was easier with Theon gone, though Maron watched him more closely. Eydis continued to be a convenient excuse.

One day, while they were kissing in the pantry storage, he felt her hand brushing the front of his pants. He pulled back in surprise. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Was that wrong? One of the older girls told me men like to be touched there.”

“I…” Robb stammered. He didn’t know how to respond. So he didn’t. He hurried from the room and began avoiding her too.

He found another girl, Hana. She was the laundress’s daughter, often helping her mother clean linens around the castle. Kissing her did not feel right either. Her lips were always cold, and she had an uncomfortable fascination with his hair, running her hands through it, tugging at it. But she did not mind kissing where others could see it, and she loved to brag to the other girls about how a “lord of the castle” had taken interest in her. So at least he knew they were both using each other, which assuaged his guilt, just a little.

She was also a remarkably bold girl. One day she pulled Robb into one of the empty rooms where she was stripping sheets from the bed and wasted no time getting to her knees and fumbling with the laces of his breeches. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“I’m going to show you a different sort of kissing,” she said, looking up at him. “Don’t worry, I’ve done this before. Oh, your hair’s read down here too!”

Robb didn’t stop her. What she did with her mouth wasn’t _unpleasant_ , but it wasn’t _pleasant_ either. She didn’t seem to get the reaction she was looking for, because a few minutes later, she got to her feet with a look of disappointment on her face. Robb tucked himself back into his breeches, and they both shuffled off in embarrassment and never spoke to each other again.

Hana must have said something to someone, though, because the next day Maron tracked him down, cornered him in one of the hallways. He was not as tall or as broad as Rodrik had been, but he was still an imposing figure, arms corded from wielding a battle axe and maneuvering rigging on boats. “Can’t get it up for a girl, can you, Little Lord Bastard?” He gave Robb a rough shove, but no more than that. He seemed more subdued since Rodrik had died.

“She was too ugly,” Robb said in defense, even though he didn’t think Hana was ugly at all and felt a little bad for saying so.

Maron sneered at him. “Maybe you’d do better closing your eyes and imagining someone _else_ then.”

He let his insinuation hang in the air a moment, then turned and stalked away without another word.

Robb was left shaken, wondering how much Maron knew. He hadn’t done enough to throw off suspicion. It wasn’t enough to be seen kissing girls. It had to be something else. Something more.

Could he _do_ something more?

He knew what adults did. He’d been around sailors, heard them talking. Up until about a year or so ago, it had always remained a sort of abstract concept, like the stories of giant squids attacking ships—more talk than something that actually happened. And then one day he’d woken up find he’d…wet himself during the night. Only, it was different. Thick and sticky. He’d hurried to pull the sheets off, face burning with embarrassment, thinking he was too old to wet the bed.

He remembered the utter shame he’d felt when Theon had asked why his sheets were on the floor, explaining to him what had happened. He wouldn’t have told anyone else the truth, but Theon, at least, wouldn’t laugh at him. Not about things like this. He’d felt an immense sense of betrayal when Theon _had_ laughed at him.

“You don’t need to worry about _that_ ,” Theon said, clapping him on the shoulder. “ _That_ just means you’re a man now.” And he’d explained, and Robb had felt embarrassed all over again, but also relieved. Especially when Theon told him it had happened to him multiple times already.

It happened to him again too, oftentimes accompanied by dreams. Strange, ethereal dreams he couldn’t quite remember when he woke up. Until the day he woke up, sticky again, with the clear image of Theon lingering in his memory. The first time he’d done it to himself—taken himself in his hand, a sort of curious experiment—it had been Theon’s image again. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. Not something he would ever act on, he told himself, but surely there was nothing wrong with _thinking_ it.

Now he knew it was wrong. Maybe thinking those thoughts had warped him, made him something that disgusted other people. It didn’t _feel_ wrong, but maybe that was part of the perversion. Maybe there was time to correct it.

That night, he took himself in hand again and forced images of Eydis and Hana into his mind, of other women and girls he’d seen around the castle, even Asha. He thought of the women he had seen down by the docks, who would wink at him—and any passing man, really—and call him handsome and occasionally flash him a breast and then laugh at his wide-eyed reaction. If he thought about them hard enough, long enough, maybe he would start to like them, like a normal man.

Nothing worked. He found his mind drifting again, found himself releasing to images of Theon, his smile, his swollen lips after their kissing in the armory.

He sat on his bed afterwards, feeling dirty and wrong and  broken, and cried into his hands.


	12. Raids and Reveries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, full disclosure...I'm not exactly an expert on all things nautical. They mention using longships in the books, but in the show...not so much, so I decided to split the difference and use both longships and more traditional medieval ships. Again, always open to hearing from people more informed on the subject.

Theon was adrift, unmoored.

“Lad, mind that rope!”

He jumped at Dagmer’s shout, snapping quickly back to himself as one of the sailors came up behind him and grabbed hold of the rigging to steady the sail. As he took a step back to let the man do his job, he felt Dagmer’s strong hand on his shoulder.

“You’re distracted,” the old reaver said. “You can’t be distracted out here, Theon. Not when there might be men’s lives depending on you to stay focused.”

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“I thought you wanted to be out here.”

“I do,” he said quickly.

Dagmer’s expression softened, and he steered Theon towards the privacy of the bow. Their ship, _The Swift Wind_ , was a thirteen-man longship, small as far as warships went, but ideal for raiding. The bow rose up with a carved kraken, a terrifying image for the smallfolk living along the coast, he imagined. Its lone eye didn’t seem to be set on them, however, but rather on him and only him. He had to look away as Dagmer leaned down.

“Where’s your mind, lad?”

Theon cast his eyes at the wooden planks.

Dagmer misread his silence. “Rodrik’s death was quite a shock,” he said. “I know the two of you were never close, but he was kin, after all.”

“I’m not thinking about Rodrik,” he said, and it came out strong because it was the truth.

“Hmm,” Dagmer rumbled. “Then I don’t suppose it would have to do with Robb Snow not joining us, would it?”

Theon’s head shot up, panicked. Did Dagmer _know_? How _much_ did he know?

“Boys your age are prone to tiffs,” Dagmer said with a grin that pulled at the gruesome split in his lips. “Fight like a bunch of women, you do. I understand. I was that age once.”

Theon couldn’t imagine Dagmer at ten and three.

Dagmer slapped him on the back heartily. “Fight like women and make up just as quickly. You’ll see, by the time we arrive back at Pyke, I’m sure you’ll both have forgotten all about it.”

Theon doubted it. How could he ever forget seeing Robb and Eydis, their lips locked together? The smug and challenging look Robb had given him when their eyes met. He didn’t for one second believe Robb had feelings for the serving girl. He was using her to show him how he abandoned their…whatever they had started in the armory that day. It had died, along with Rodrik.

The thought tore at Theon’s gut.

But he nodded at Dagmer’s words anyway, and must have been genuine enough to please the old sailor, who grinned. “Right. Now that Rodrik’s gone, you’re behind Maron in leadership. The men on your boat will be counting on you for a strong hand and an iron will. Do you think you can give that to them?”

Theon wasn’t sure, but he nodded anyway, and that also pleased Dagmer.

“Avast, ye men!” Dagmer hollered.

Theon looked down the length of the ship, to the men under his command. Most were seated at their oars, idling, but a few were wrangling the sail to catch the wind that had picked up.

“Go ahead then,” Dagmer whispered, once he had their attention. “Give the order.” He stepped back, leaving Theon with thirteen pairs of eyes pinned on him, watching him expectantly.

These were hardened men, men who’d been doing this longer than Theon had been alive. How could he possibly command them? He didn’t know anything. That was the trick, he supposed. To make them _think_ he knew everything.

He lifted his chin, straightened his shoulders. “Pick up your oars,” he said, glad that his voice carried. “We make for shore. There are some mainlanders who’ve forgotten how to fear the Ironborn.”

A wild cheer went up.

Theon looked to Dagmer, who was absolutely beaming. It made a hideous picture, but Theon felt the warmth of approval.

“Aye,” Dagmer said, raising his voice again. “We’ll hit Westlip this time. A quick raid. Just to remind them we haven’t forgotten about them, eh?”

Another cheer, and Theon leaned against the carved kraken, looking eastward out towards the faint line of land in the distance. Dagmer was right. He needed to focus on the task at hand.

 

***

 

They pulled in to Westlip in the darkness. The longboat’s shallow hull brought them right up to the beach, silent and unseen. From there they waded to shore. Westlip was a small village, perhaps ten families. They did not even have proper fortifications, though their posted sentries spotted them before they reached the town proper and sent up the alarm. From there, the attack was quick and brutal.

Theon had been instructed to watch his first raid and only participate to defend himself. There was no need for that, though. The townsfolk were keener on fleeing, grabbing children and running from burning buildings. He saw one of his men drag a woman into the street by her hair; her screaming was unsettling, and she thrashed like a fish in his grip as he tore at her dress. He saw a villager take an axe to the back of his neck, nearly severing his head. The man fell to the ground in a pool of his own blood. The woman’s screams continued to rise over the roar of flames.

Suddenly, Theon felt sick. Suddenly it was Rodrik’s body, in a pool of his own blood. It was Robb screaming. He had to turn his head, though it did nothing to block out the screaming, the smell of blood and burned flesh. _This is a raid_ , he thought. _This is what it means to be a reaver_. It was oddly horrible.

An immense sense of relief washed over him when Dagmer finally called, “Enough! Back to the boat!”

The men gathered what they had taken from the homes, from the village’s stores, and hurried back to the shore, whooping and laughing. Theon followed behind, and Dagmer hoisted him back onto the boat. Soon, Westlip was only a spot of flame on the coastline, and then not even that as the fires were doused. They had not struck hard, Theon knew. They had minimized the carnage in exchange for a quick raid. It had been more of a show of force, after all. Westlip would not soon forget the night the Ironborn had come for a visit.


	13. Brothels and Big Fish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might be able to tell from the title, but this chapter contains a tryst of a (non-graphic) sexual nature between an adult and a minor.

Theon was back from his raid. He smiled when the men congratulated him, clapped him on the back, but his smile was fake. Robb wondered how the Ironborn didn’t notice. He watched from afar and wondered what had happened. Dagmer was quick to tell everyone of the successful raid, led very competently by Theon Greyjoy, who was sure to be the Islands’ next Lord Reaver. Though Robb didn’t dare approach, he did feel a certain swell of pride and regret that he had not been there.

He caught Theon staring at him, in the dining hall. His eyes pleading, confused. Robb schooled his features and looked away. When he looked back, Theon had looked away as well.

It was harder with him back. He often found himself watching, Theon watching back, both of them looking away. Made worse that he had not found a girl to replace Hana. There were plenty interested, he gathered from idle bits of gossip he picked up on. They liked his red hair. They said he was handsome. He saw them watching while he practiced with his axe. But he also saw Theon watching. They didn’t practice together anymore. Theon shouldn’t be watching.

He needed to discourage it again, quickly.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you out this late, Robb Snow,” the guard said as Robb made his way towards town. “Where are you headed this time of night?”

Robb flashed him a gold dragon. “Looking for a little company.” That’s what the men at the docks called it. “You can tell anyone who asks I’m at the brothel.”

The guard snickered, and Robb had the distinct feeling he was being laughed at, but the man waved him along. “Have fun, then, Lord Snow.”

He felt like every eye was on him as he made his way into town, that everyone was laughing at him. Everyone but the drunks in the gutters he had to step around. The usual scantily clad women watched him intently as he approached the brothel, calling to him, some even reaching out to run a hand along his shoulder, his hair, his chin. He recoiled from them as if they were made of hot iron. He so badly wanted to run back to the castle, find Theon, and kiss him like he had that day in the armory, cry into his shoulder and beg forgiveness. But no. Theon was already well on his way to becoming a man in the eyes of the Ironborn. Robb needed to follow suit.

There were more women inside, sitting at tables or in men’s laps. The smell of sweat and alcohol and something foreign but overwhelming hit him. The air felt stale and oppressive. He had to lean against one of the wooden beams to pull in a breath. His head felt light.

An older woman approached him, much more appropriately dressed for the cold, dank weather of Pyke. “Your first time, dear?” she asked, one hand on her hip. “What have you got in mind?”

“Uh…” Robb stammered. He didn’t know what she meant.

She smiled, and it was almost motherly. She crooked a finger at him. “No need to be nervous, dear. We’ll take good care of you.”

Robb followed her. None of the women or patrons paid him any mind as they passed by, for which Robb was grateful. The madam pulled back a beaded curtain and ushered him into a room where a young woman was brushing out her long, brown hair in front of a mirror.

“Ylsa, we have a new customer tonight.”

The young woman set down her brush and turned. She had a plain face; her nose was perhaps a bit large, but for the most part she looked like any other fisherman’s daughter he’d met. Her eyes, though, were strange a pale green that left him fascinated. She pursed thin, colorless lips together as she studied him. “He’s a child,” she stated.

Robb’s face burned at her appraisal.

“Will you see to him or not?”

Ylsa nodded and stood. “I’ll take care of him.”

Robb followed her back out into the main room and upstairs. His heart beat with every creak of the rickety wooden steps. There were more rooms on the second level. Private rooms. He allowed himself a deep breath of relief as Ylsa closed and locked the door behind them. They were alone, just a small room with a straw-mattress bed.

“Make yerself comfortable,” she said as she crossed to the lone window and closed the shutters.

Robb couldn’t imagine being comfortable here, but he sat on the bed anyway, staring at the warped floorboards as she shuffled around.

“What’s your name, m’lord?” she asked.

“Robb,” he muttered back.

“You sound nervous.” She slipped off her sandals and padded over to stand in front of him. Her hand was gentle as she caressed his chin, gently lifting his head so that he was looking her in the eye. “There’s no need t’be nervous. I’ll take good care of you.”

They’d said that three times since he’d entered: “Take care of you.” He didn’t even know what that meant, but he nodded anyway and let her press him back onto the bed. It was harder and scratchier than his bed at the castle. He focused on that as she began to undo the laces at the front of her dress.

 

***

 

Afterwards, he lay staring up at the ceiling, thinking how very much he didn’t feel like a man. All he felt was a dull shame that roiled in his stomach, almost like seasickness. Next to him, Ylsa rolled over and began toying with his hair. “There’s no shame,” she said softly. “Men have this trouble all th’ time.”

“They don’t talk about that,” Robb said, musing aloud to himself.

“Mmm,” she agreed, and her hand was so gentle. He remembered another woman’s gentle hand in his hair, sitting by the fireplace in a castle far away from here. “Fishermen don’t tell stories about the small fish they catch either. Not that yer a _small fish_ , mind,” she added with a playful wink, “but the truth doesn’t make for a good story, now, does it? How many fishermen do you s’pose have caught small fish, at least once in their lives?”

Robb shrugged. “All of them, I suppose.”

“Small fish happen,” she said. “Sometimes a fisherman catches a small fish, and sometimes a sailor will find no wind in his sail.”

He so clearly remembered the look of disgust on Hana’s face. But he did not find it reflected on hers as he turned to look at her for the first time since they had finished. “You are not…disappointed?”

“My little lord, as long as you have coin, there’s not a whore in this world you can disappoint.” Her hand brushed against his forehead. “You didn’t come here on account o’ yerself, did you?”

Wordlessly, he shook his head.

“Maybe you came to please someone else?” she said, as if it were a idle suggestion. “Someone who thought they’d make a man out of you?”

He felt something catch in his throat. He thought it might be a cough, but when he tried to dislodge it, a sob came out instead. And then there was no stopping it. He was sobbing, weeping like that day at the secret place with Rodrik’s body. Warm hands pulled him to a warm chest. His cheek lay against Ylsa’s breast, and he cried as she shushed and soothed him.

She let him cry for a long while, and eventually he grew too tired to continue. Then he just lay there, eyes burning, face sore. “You won’t…tell anyone? About my crying and…before?”

“Sweetheart,” she said, “who would I tell?”

“The other girls. The men you…”

She snorted. “You think my clients care what comes _out_ of my mouth? I’m in the business of making money, not gossiping like an old hen. As long as you pay me, what business we have remains between us.”

Robb sat up. His face felt hot from crying, his limbs as sore as if he’d swum to Harlaw and back. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so _tired_. “Then, if I pay you again…?”

She pursed her lips. “Perhaps you could try with another girl.”

“No, I mean…” He found himself grabbing her hand. “Perhaps I could just see you again.”

She opened her mouth to speak.

“I would pay you!” he added quickly. “Whatever you want. I just need…I need them to think…”

Her face softened again. She understood. Maybe not the why or who of it, but she understood. “Well,” she said, shuffling to the side of the bed and swinging her legs out, “I would not turn down money, o’ course. The iron price is well and good for those who don’t have to worry about putting food on their tables.” She reached for her discarded dress and slipped it on over her head. “But I want to be clear on what you’re askin’.”

“I just need someone to see us going up the stairs together and coming back down together,” he said. “I don’t care if nothing happens in between.” In fact, he’d rather nothing did happen.

She began lacing up the front of her dress, almost thoughtfully. “You would _pay_ to be seen with a whore?”

Robb nodded. “I have the money.”

“I don’t doubt it, m’lord.”

“Oh, I’m not…I’m no lord.”

“You come from the castle, you are a lord, m’lord.” She finished dressing and turned to face him again. “I won’t turn down your money, m’lord. It’s more than enough to buy my silence. I won’t mind the odd night off either, believe you me.” She placed her hands on her hips. “In the meantime, I suppose you should go home and tell your father or your brother or whoever it is you wish to please that you caught a big fish.”


	14. Conferences and Clues

Robb had become a womanizer—a whoremonger. It was well-known about the castle. Theon heard the guards joking about it one day.

“See ‘im head down to the docks at least twice a week, eager as anything. Boy can hardly wait to get it out of his pants.”

“With a face like his, you’d think he’d had no trouble with girls throwing themselves at him.”

“Maybe he wears them out. You know what they say about salt sons.”

It amused them to no end. Whores were for men who could not attract or take a woman for themselves. It was clear to them, as clear as it was to Theon, that Robb was a boy playing at being a man. They didn’t know the truth behind it, though. They figured Robb was merely driven by his bastard’s urges to seek out women wherever he could find them. Which, Theon guessed, was exactly what Robb wanted them to figure.

And there was that tiny shred of doubt in his own mind. Perhaps it had merely been curiosity that day between them. He didn’t think so. Robb had seemed far too eager to continue. But then again, perhaps he had only been trying to please Theon.

He replayed that day in his head, over and over again. Robb obviously blamed him for what had happened. As well he might. Theon had sent him to the place where he’d been attacked, under the delusional notion that he would be safe there. And worse, Theon had sent him there alone, so that he was not there when danger had inevitably presented itself. In doing so, he’d not only opened Robb up to attack, but he’d also forced blood on Robb’s hands. Killing a man in equal contest was one thing, a rite of passage. Accidentally killing the heir to the Iron Islands was another matter entirely.

But Maron was the heir to the Iron Islands now, which he surprisingly did not take well to. He was unusually silent at Rodrik’s funeral, and remained largely subdued in the weeks that followed. Theon had always known the two of them were close, but not _that_ close. Not enough that Maron would turn into a quiet mouse without Rodrik. There was something else, Theon suspected, though he didn’t know what. He was just glad Maron seemed to have lost all interest in him.

Theon also found himself swept along into the empty place Rodrik had left behind. As Maron was forced to take Rodrik’s place as heir, Theon was forced into Maron’s old place as spare. Which meant more meetings with his father and uncles. Theon hated them. There was far less posturing and fewer raised voices than the meeting he’d attended after his grandfather’s funeral. These were mostly boring affairs, talk of trade, of affairs on the other islands and among the ruling houses and their smallfolk. Theon gathered he was meant to sit and listen and speak only when he had something to contribute—that is, never. He was good at that, at least. Sitting there, trying to ignore the occasional disdainful look from Balon or Vicatarion or smirk from Euron that made his skin prickle.

One meeting, he was surprised to enter the hall to find Asha at Balon’s side, leaning over a table and gesturing at a map.

“Are we letting women plan our strategies now?” Victarion guffawed as he entered behind Theon.

“Leave her be!” Balon snapped, catching them all by surprise. “She has more sense than half the men in this room. She has proven herself a capable reaver and a skilled leader of men, even for her age. She has earned her right to sit with us. Not everyone here can say the same.” Perhaps it was Theon’s imagination, but it seemed Balon’s gaze lingered on him longer than it should at that moment.

Theon knew Asha had been going on raids since she was close to his age, and there had been some talk of giving her her own ship. Where Maron had become withdrawn, she had become bolder. Theon often saw her with Tristofer Botley or Qarl the Maid, drinking, telling raunchy jokes to the laughter of the other men. Theon wondered how she could be so open, especially with her warning to him about carelessness. He wondered at it again as she outlined her plan for settling a dispute on Old Wyck. _People like us_ , she had said. What had she meant?

After the meeting passed, he followed behind her and waited until they were alone before calling out to her. She turned with an exasperated sigh but didn’t turn him away as he approached her.

“Do you remember when you told me to be careful?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her tone told him he should be careful right now.

He chose his words carefully. “I…um, I was careless…with Robb.”

She cocked her head.

“Someone…saw us.”

“Are you alright?” she asked, with genuine alarm on her face.

“I’m alight. We’re both alright,” he said, though she hadn’t asked after Robb. “I took care of it.”

“Are you certain?”

He nodded. There was definitely no need to tell her that he and Robb had been the cause of Rodrik’s accident.

She seemed to accept this though, because the alarm vanished from her face, replaced with disapproval. “I warned you.”

“I know,” he said, shame-faced. “I’ll be more careful, I promise. But Robb…he’s scared.”

“Is that why the two of you have been fighting for months?”

“We’re not fighting,” Theon said. “We can’t fight if he won’t even speak to me.”

She snorted.

“Please, Asha,” he begged, “I need to make this right with Robb.”

“What do you expect me to do about it?” she asked pointedly, folding her arms over her chest. “It’s not my place to fix your mistakes, Theon.”

“I know, but I just…he won’t _talk_ to me.”

“You want me to deliver a message to him, like a trained raven?” She scoffed and shook her head.

“No, but there must be… You said ‘people like us.’ You must know something about… _this_.”

Her eyes widened. She looked from left to right, making sure they were alone, then grabbed Theon by the arm and drew him in close, hissing at him, “You’re not being careful, Theon.”

“Tell me what to do,” he hissed back.

Her nostrils flared. She was silent, and he could tell from the serious look on her face that she was deliberating on whether to help him or not. At last, she nodded, as if coming to her decision. “Go to the brothel down by the docks,” she said. “Enter through the back way to make sure no one sees you. Ask for Ylsa.”

“Ylsa,” he repeated, memorizing the name. “She’ll help me?”

“Maybe,” Asha said. Then she released her hold on him. “But for the loved of the Drowned God and all His seas, do _not_ tell her I sent you, understand?”


	15. Windows and Whispers

Robb entered their room like usual and stopped dead when he found someone waiting for them inside. He shot a panicked look over his shoulder to Ylsa. Had she betrayed him? She didn’t react, though, simply closed and locked the door behind her like always. Robb turned back to the newcomer.

Not a man, judging by the height, though the hooded cloak obscured their face. “Robb.” Someone who knew him, then.

“Who are you?” Robb challenged.

The fingers of the stranger’s hands were long and slender as they pulled back their hood.

Robb recoiled. “Theon! How—?”

“No one saw me enter,” Theon said quickly, holding up a hand, beseeching him to listen. “I came in through the window—” he gestured “—with Ylsa’s help.”

Robb looked to Ylsa, feeling a strong sense of betrayal. He’d been paying her well since they’d come to their agreement. Why had she done this?

“I asked her to,” Theon said in answer to his unspoken question. “We need to speak.”

“We can’t,” Robb spat. “It’s not safe. How do you not understand that by now?”

“It’s safe for us to speak here,” Theon said, and his voice was so hopeful Robb felt like someone was squeezing his heart. “Nobody knows I’m here. All anyone can say is they saw you come up with her. I’ll leave out the window, and everyone will see you go back down with her.” He took a step forward. “Please, Robb, I can’t leave things like this between us. At least let me apologize. Let me do that, and then if you still hate me, you can send me away and I swear to never speak to you again.”

Robb blinked. “Is that what you think? That I hate you?”

“You won’t talk to me. You won’t look at me.” Theon sighed and ran a hand through his windswept hair. “What else am I to think?”

Robb looked down at his feet. “You _don’t_ understand, then.”

“Because you won’t _talk_ to me,” Theon said. “Explain it to me.”

“I can’t be your friend anymore, Theon.”

Theon’s face completely folded; it looked the way Robb’s heart felt in that moment. “You can’t mean that. What about our ship? We were going to get away from here, remember?”

“Why do you have to make this so hard?” Robb snapped. “I’m doing this to protect you as much as myself!”

Theon balked.

“I can’t be your friend,” Robb continued, “because I don’t want to be your friend. And I can’t _pretend_ like that’s all I want. Because if I have to be next to you all the time and see you smile and hear you laugh, then I’m not going to be _able_ to pretend. I’ll slip up, Theon. I know I will.”

“You’ll…?”

Robb growled in frustration. He closed the distance between them, grabbed Theon’s cloak, and pulled him down. Theon’s lips were cold, but Robb supposed his were as well. Perhaps they were idiots, the both of them, for coming all the way down here in the cold of night. It didn’t stop him, though. He didn’t think he could stop, even if he tried. It felt too right, especially when Theon was kissing him back, his cold hands cupping his face. He was still as awkward as they’d been that day, so Robb guided him, using what he’d learned from Eydis and Hana and Ylsa. None of them had felt this right.

He hated to tear away. He hated it more than anything. Theon’s breath was warm against his face and he drew back. “It doesn’t matter how well we hide it, Theon. They’ll find us. They’ll always find us. The best way to protect ourselves is to just…stay away from each other.”

He made to stay away, but Theon grabbed his shoulders and wouldn’t let him. “What about here?” he asked. “This is safe, right? They won’t find us here.”

“No, it’s…” Robb began to protest, then glanced over his shoulder as Ylsa, who had remained so silent the entire time he’d practically forgotten she was there.

She stood in the corner, arms folded over her chest and head turned away, perhaps trying to give them privacy. She must have felt Robb’s gaze on her, though, because she looked at him then. “If he pays too, I don’t mind sneakin’ him in through the window every so often,” she said. “In any case, I’m silent as a dead woman. Your prefer lads; plenty of lads do.” She shrugged. “At least I know not to take the lack of wind in your sail personal-like now.”

Robb felt himself flush, but Theon just guided his eyes back to him.

“You’re considering it,” he said, “aren’t you? You want to keep doing this, just like I do.”

“We couldn’t do it very often,” Robb said. “It would be suspicious.”

“I don’t need to do it often,” Theon said. “As long as I know we can. That you want to.”

“I want to,” Robb said. The words to tell him _how much_ he wanted to choked in his throat, but he hoped Theon knew. Could see it on his face. He clutched Theon back. “I would be happy being next to you and seeing your smile and being your friend again if I knew we could be more than that for just a little while.”

“We’ll have all the time we want,” Theon said, “when I have my own ship.”

“You still want to leave?” Robb asked.

“I’m still planning on it, yes.”

“But…you’re second in line for the Seastone Chair. Don’t you need to be here?”

“Second, it’s just one place closer than third. Anyway, Maron’s most likely going to get married and start making heirs, and then I won’t be second in line anymore.”

For the first time since that day at the secret place, Robb felt a swell of hope. He shouldn’t allow himself to, but he wanted to believe it so badly. He stretched up to kiss Theon again, and found that in the months they’d been apart, somehow the height between them had managed to shrink. He barely had to stretch at all to reach Theon’s lips, to pull the older boy forward. Gods, he’d missed him. But now that he had him back, he wasn’t going to let him go. Not now. Not ever.

 

***

 

They decided it would be best for Theon to return to the castle before he was missed and that Robb would spend the night with Ylsa—though what a relief to find he had not actually been sleeping with her. Theon felt his heart fluttering like an excited bird in his chest as he made his way back to the castle. He snuck in as easily as he’d snuck out; with his hood pulled low over his head, nobody stopped him.

He was certain he had made it back undiscovered as he laid his hand against the rough wood of his bedroom door. But then a voice called out to him from the darkness. “Where you been, little Theon?”

He whirled around, and Maron seemed to melt out of the shadows themselves. He looked more haggard than when Theon had seen him last, at the meeting. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he had not shaved for several days. He was dressed for neither day nor night, but some sort of state of half-undress unbecoming of a prince of the Iron Islands. Theon pressed against the door, ready to rush in and lock it behind him if Maron was looking for trouble.

Maron staggered towards him, and for a moment Theon thought he might be drunk. He did not smell the telltale scent of alcohol that had so often clung to Rodrik, though. “Where you been?” his brother asked again.

“Out,” Theon muttered.

Maron eyed him suspiciously. “By yourself?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t…meet with anyone?”

“No,” Theon answered, feeling the hair at the back of his neck prickling.

He was unprepared when Maron surged forward and wrapped and arm around his neck, something he and Rodrik often did with each other when they were roughhousing. He tried to pull away, but Maron held him still and pulled him in closer to whisper into his ear. “I need to tell you something, little Theon. Something I’ve been suspecting for a while now.”

“Wh-what?”

“Rodrik’s death wasn’t an accident.”

Theon went completely still. “What are you saying?”

“Listen, you little idiot,” Maron snarled. “I’m saying someone _killed_ him. And I’m pretty sure I know who.”

He pinned Theon with a look, and in that instant, Theon was certain.

“Who?”

Maron smirked. “You know who.”

Theon shook his head. “Who would want to kill Rodrik?” He could play dumb, at least.

Maron’s smirk turned to disgust. “Who else? Euron.”

Theon blinked. “Euron?”

“Our dearest nuncle,” Maron reiterated with a nod. “He wants the Seastone Chair for himself. Rodrik was standing in his way, so he killed him and made it appear an accident.”

“You can’t…be serious,” Theon stammered, both terrified and relieved.

“I haven’t any proof, of course. Just a feeling, deep in my gut. Euron killed Rodrik, and I’m next.”

Was that why he’d been acting so odd? He was certain Euron meant to kill him?

Theon didn’t know how to react, exactly, as Maron pulled away from him. He supposed he should at least appear sympathetic. “I doubt he would try something again, so soon after Rodrik’s death,” he said. “It would look suspicious.”

Maron just shook his head, as if Theon were a naïve summer child. “If I turn up dead under mysterious circumstances,” he said, jabbing Theon’s chest, “just realize that you’re probably next, little Theon.”

 

End Part II


	16. PART III: Age of Exploration

Robb was thinking about books again. Specifically, an illustration he had seen in one of the books he’d borrowed from the library. Obviously some bored scribe had decided to ink something he shouldn’t have into the margins of the manuscript, and though the act depicted had been between a man and a woman, Robb couldn’t help but picture doing it with Theon.

They hadn’t done much of…that. Their nights together were limited largely to kissing, fondling, groping. The brothel’s thin sheets did not offer much in the way of privacy, and it was sometimes difficult to be comfortable when they were aware Ylsa was in the room with them. Out of necessity, of course. Robb still felt immensely grateful for all she had done for them these last few years, but lately, he’d also felt a measure of resentment. She did her best to cover her eyes and ears and insisted they need not be shy in front of her, but it was not the same as being truly alone.

It was certainly frustrating, so he supposed no one could blame him if his mind drifted a bit, from time to time. As long as he kept it in his head. As long as no one could tell what he was thinking.

He was considering that picture again, trying to decide if he would like to have Theon bent over or _be_ the one bent over, when he really should have been focusing on where he was going. But he knew the hallways of Pyke so well by now, their strange twists and turns. His feet automatically steered him around anyone he met as he made his way back to the castle’s bare library with the incriminating book tucked under his arm.

He did look up when he heard the heavy tread of boots against the stone, an angry sort of gait. He was glad he did, because then he was prepared when Euron came tearing around the corner, a dark look on his face.

Robb had not interacted with Theon’s uncles very much. He’d intimated to Theon as a child that they frightened him, though each in their different ways. Victarion was like a giant, something so big and brutish it could not reasoned with. Aeron was like a monster from the deep, like the crones in Old Nan’s stories who would wade out of the ocean and drag unsuspecting travelers to their deaths. And Euron was something else entirely. A demon, maybe, full of cunning malice. One look in his eye was enough to tell anyone there was a sharpness within the madness of his mind. Robb had never seen his dead eye; Theon told him it was truly terrifying.

And so he pressed himself up against the wall to let Euron pass. And Euron did pass, in a whirlwind storm, before stopping and backtracking several paces. His eye landed on Robb, and his mouth pulled into a rictus grin. “The redheaded boy,” he said. “Though not much of a boy these days.” Robb shuddered as Euron’s eye tracked across his body, sizing him up. “How old are you again?”

“Sixteen,” Robb answered curtly.

“Old enough then,” Euron said thoughtfully. “And strong, I gather.”

“Dagmer says I’m quite good with an axe.” It was meant to carry a threat, but Euron just smiled broader and stepped closer.

“There’s always a place for strong young men on my ship,” he said. “The _Silence_ sails today, if you’re tired of land beneath your feet.”

Today? Was he mad? Well, obviously, yes. “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Robb answered plainly. And also, not in a hundred thousand years would he join Euron Greyjoy on his ship. He’d heard the stories about the crew of the _Silence_ , how Euron cut out their tongues so they would never share his secrets. Even if it proved to be more Ironborn bravado, he still would not want to be alone at sea under Euron’s command.

Euron leered at him. “Perhaps you’ll have changed your mind once I return. You’ll have plenty of time to consider.” He lifted a hand, seemingly to touch him, but then must have thought better and let it fall away. “You will tell little Theon goodbye for me, won’t you?”

Robb didn’t know how else to respond, so he nodded.

Euron’s smile split to reveal a mouth of crooked teeth. “Good lad,” he said, and then turned and walked off at a brisk, but considerably less angry pace.

Robb didn’t learn until later that day that Euron had officially been exiled. The full story didn’t come out until later—Euron’s alleged “seduction” of Victarion’s wife. Looking back on their conversation, Robb felt a chill, a sense of dread. Exile was forever. He knew that better than most.

Then why had Euron said “once I return?”


	17. Meetings and Missions

With Euron gone, Maron regained a bit of his old demeanor, even if he didn’t completely lose that edge of paranoia that had been driving him the last four years. He was downright belligerent at the next meeting, their first without Euron present.

“I tell you, we’ve waited too long!” And he brought his hand down on the table, rattling it. “We should have made our move after Robert’s Rebellion, when the throne was weak. We should have struck after Grandfather died. The time was right.”

“The time was not right,” Balon said, leaning heavily against the table and looking thoroughly unrattled. “The omens were…inauspicious.”

“Or perhaps,” Maron said, “you found it convenient to listen to old superstitions.”

“Careful, boy,” Victarion said gruffly.

“I’m not a boy,” Maron shot back. “I am a man grown, in command of my own ship. I’ve led dozens of successful raiding missions along the mainland. I know the strength of our fleet.” He turned his eyes to Balon. “We can make our play now. Declare our intent to have an independent Iron Islands. The throne will try to stop us, of course, but I say let them come. We have more than enough strength to best them.”

“We have the strength,” Balon agreed. “But they have the numbers.”

“One Ironborn is worth ten mainlanders,” Maron said. “We can do it now. We could have done it sooner, if your cowardice hadn’t st—”

Maron never got a chance to finish his sentence. Balon’s swift smack sent him reeling. Theon winced at the sound of it. Everyone stared as Maron regained himself. He felt his lip; his hand came away with blood.

“I will not be called a coward by a boy who cringes at his own shadow,” Balon said.

Maron didn’t speak for the rest of the meeting, and in fact was the first one out of the room after it was adjourned, muttering darkly to himself. Despite Euron being gone, a pervasive air had come over the Greyjoys.

Victarion was ill-tempered, as to be expected with his third wife having joined the other two in death, at his own hand this time. The very thought churned Theon’s stomach. If someone told him he had to kill Robb to satisfy his honor, he did not think he would be able to do it.

Aeron was noticeably less tense. The constant hunch in his shoulders whenever Euron was around had disappeared, leaving a man who appeared both relieved and unbearably weary.

Asha was mostly quiet, offering ideas on how to fill the political void Euron had left. She was quite good at this, Theon had to admit. She knew the Islands like the lines of her own hand, and the people that lived there. The smallfolk liked her, Theon gathered. It was too bad she was a woman. She would have made a worthy second heir.

After Balon dismissed the meeting, Theon made to follow them from the hall. Robb would be expecting him in the courtyard. But a gruff, “Theon,” stopped him. He turned back to see his father beckoning him to his side.

It struck him in that instant, how _old_ his father looked. How tired and worn. He had never called for Theon to stay before. In fact, Theon couldn’t remember many private conversations between them at all. He hurried to his father’s side and stood stone still, ready to receive Balon’s words dutifully.

“I have a task for you.”

Theon’s heart sped up. “Yes, Father.”

“Do you remember your grandfather’s funeral?”

“Yes.”

Balon clasped his hands behind his back and turned to the mantel over the fireplace. There was no fire now, just cold ashes and the husks of burnt-out candles. “The night after your grandfather’s funeral, I had a dream—no, not a dream. A vision. Sent to me by the Drowned God Himself, I believe.”

Theon cocked his head, wondering where this was going.

“I dreamt that the Iron Islands had fused with the mainland, that they had reeled us in like a fish and dragged us onto the land to die.” His gaze was far away. Although the dream had to have happened ten years ago by now, he spoke as if it had happened last night. “Rodrik was the first to die. I saw his face turn blue as he gasped for breath. I saw Maron crushed under a wall of rubble. And you…”

He cast an eye at Theon. Theon shivered.

“I watched as they cut you into pieces. They placed you in separate boxes and buried them. Even Asha was not spared. She was in chains, somewhere covered in snow and far from the sea.” He placed a hand over his eyes. “All of my children…all…brought as low as dogs—no, pigs! Made to crawl in the mud and slaughtered at the greenlanders’ whims.

“But they still were not pleased, the mainlanders. They had to ground us into the dirt, like a boot stomping on an ant. They took our lands from us, our people, our very way of life. They even took the Drowned God from us, built their septs and forced us to worship their Seven, tortured those who would not recant. And when it was done, we were no different from the greenlanders. We had become them. And it was _my_ doing.”

Balon looked at him again, and Theon swallowed. _Why are you telling me this?_ He didn’t dare ask, but Balon answered anyway.

“That is why I did not rebel. It is better to live as we are now—weakened though we are, kneeling to a mainland throne—than to become what I saw in my dream. Do you suppose that makes me a coward, boy?”

“No,” Theon answered promptly. “It was a message from the Drowned God.”

“Perhaps I am a coward,” Balon said with a sigh, placing his hand on the mantel, as if to steady himself. “The Drowned God has decided I am not the one who will restore the Iron Islands to its days of glory, but neither will I be the one to burn it all down.” Then, almost to himself, he said, “To think I would come to understand my own father. I berated him as a coward too. A coward clutching to peace. That’s what I’ve become. Perhaps one day a worthy Greyjoy will take up the mantel, but it is not me.”

Theon felt oddly hopeful. Was his father referring to him? Was that why he’d pulled him aside?

It didn’t appear so, because Balon abruptly turned back to him. “Maron is already married.”

Balon smirked at the surprise on Theon’s face at the abrupt change in topic.

“We made a good enough match with House Blacktyde, but I have something else in mind for you.”

A faint prickle of unease tickled at Theon’s gut. “Yes, Father?”

“I want you to go to King’s Landing and find an ally to bind to our House.”

“An…ally?” Theon repeated. He was pretty sure he had caught his father’s insinuation, but he wanted to be sure.

“Someone who, if the time comes, will side with us against the throne.”

“If the time comes,” Theon repeated again.

“The more powerful the House, the better. I am also sending your sister. It is time she was wed as well.”

Asha would not like that.

“Can I trust you with this task, Theon? Can I trust you to find an ally to stand with our House?”

He hesitated. He had never given much serious thought to marriage, and none since his relationship with Robb had changed. And what of Robb? How would he react? A wife would tie him to the Iron Islands. She needn’t, though. Plenty of the sailors kept their rock wives and salt wives separate. Would that make Robb his salt wife? He had to keep himself from smirking like a giddy fool at the thought in front of his father.

In any event, this was the most important task he had ever been given, more than any of the petty raids along the coast. This was a chance to prove himself. And if he was successful, mayhaps he would even earn himself a ship.

“Yes,” he said at last. “You can count on me, Father.”


	18. Cabins and Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Red Alert! This is not a drill, people. This chapter contains consensual sex between two adults (well, for ASOIAF standards, anyway. Robb is 16 and Theon is 17).

They had not even left port yet and already Robb felt sick to his stomach. But maybe it wasn’t the sea. Maybe it was the idea of Theon getting married. They’d had…not a fight, exactly, but a strong discussion.

_“What about our ship?”_

_“We’ll still have the ship.”_

_“What about your wife?”_

_“I only need to get an heir off her. Plenty of men only see their wives once a year.”_

He still didn’t like it. But on the other hand, he was excited to see King’s Landing.

Robb looked at the other boy now, inspecting the perimeter of the cabin they would be sharing. Sharing a cabin with Theon. Just the two of them. The entire way to King’s Landing. Robb absently tested the bed he was sitting on. Not as soft as his bed at the castle, but softer than the bed at the brothel. Theon was a prince of the Iron Islands, after all, and he was afforded the proper luxury of his position—a private cabin for him and his companion.

“How did you manage to convince your father to let me come?”

Theon glanced up from checking the lock on the door—good idea—and gave Robb a questioning look.

“I mean…if he’s looking to impress the nobles, why would he let you bring a bastard to court? And one who…doesn’t have the best history with the King?”

Theon smiled and Robb’s heart pattered. “He was eager to let you come.”

“Really?”

Theon opened the door, looked out in the hall, then closed the door and locked it behind him. He lowered his voice as he came to sit next to Robb on his bed. “I think my father wants to find out if there’s still sympathy for your family among the court.”

“How could there be sympathy? My father was a traitor.”

“The Targaryens killed your uncle and grandfather and kidnapped your aunt before killing her too. Your father was only fighting back against the dishonor they brought to your House. Anyone on the Iron Islands would do the same. The Ironborn and the Northmen may not be on the best terms, but I know there are plenty who sympathize with your father trying to defend his family’s honor.”

“Truly?” Robb asked, surprised. “I have…sympathizers?” He had never known sympathy to be a defining trait of the Ironborn.

“Well…those who understand why your father would take up arms against the King. The Ironborn have had a contentious history with the throne, you know, even since the Seven Kingdoms were made one. There are others who feel the same. That’s who we’re going to find.”

“Right,” Robb agreed. “It’s only politics. Finding you a wife.”

“Of course,” Theon said, before pressing his lips to Robb’s. Robb shot a worried glance at the door, but Theon assured him, “It’s locked. I double-checked. Now, no more talk of politics. Nothing excites me less than politics.”

Robb allowed himself to be laid out the bed as Theon climbed on top of him. “Is that why I can feel you through your breeches?” he teased.

“ _You_ excite me,” Theon said, pressing kisses over his face, his jaw and chin, his neck. “I would have you over a thousand wives any day.”

 

***

 

There were two beds in the cabin, though they only used one. Rumpled the sheets of the other to make it appear they had slept separately. At night, though, they would crawl in next to each other, even the nights when the rocking of the ship threatened to cause Robb to spill his dinner all over the sheets. Theon held him then, stroked his hair and talked him through it.

It was well into the second week before Robb developed what Theon called “sea legs.” The nausea never fully subsided, but he got used to the ground being unsteady under his feet—or the bed under his body.

He enjoyed being with Theon in privacy for the first time. In their cramped little cabin, surrounded on all sides by a violent ocean, they had never been so free. They could let their hands wander, explore with their eyes. Robb didn’t have to bite back his moans as Theon brought him to finish with his hand, just stifle them enough so they couldn’t be heard over the creaking of the ship around them. For the first time, he truly understood Theon’s vision: The two of them on a ship, free to go where they wished and do as they wished with each other. He just hoped this new wife would not interfere with their plans. Or cause Theon’s plans to stray.

He resolved to not let that happen. And there was a considerable distance from the Iron Islands to King’s Landing, which gave him ample opportunity to try new things to keep Theon’s attention where he wanted it.

“Where…?” Theon asked one such night, still panting heavily as Robb finally pulled back and wiped the spit and seed from the corner of his mouth. “Where did you learn that?”

Robb just smiled coyly, since he couldn’t exactly say he’d been asking a literal whore for advice. Ylsa’s tutelage had been…enlightening. She knew so much and had not a shred of shame to explain it to him, give him pointers, tell him how he could practice. She was more invaluable than a thousand scribes’ scribbles in the margins of books. He’d been sure to give her extra for all her information.

He might give her more when they got back, since she’d been absolutely right. His first time taking Theon in his mouth had been horribly awkward, and he’d been terrified of recreating his experience with Hana, only in the washing girl’s place this time. He had new sympathy for her, how mortifying it must have been to get no reaction from him. But he’d gotten a reaction out of Theon. A definite reaction.

He was certain he hadn’t done very well on his first time. It felt like he should have been able to take all of Theon, but in the end he only managed about half before his throat seized up. If Theon complained, he could always tell him he was just too big to take all the way, play it off as a compliment. Theon hadn’t complained, though.

The taste was strange on his tongue. He wondered if Theon noticed as they kissed again. He had to notice.

“There’s other things we can try,” Robb said slowly. “I mean, later, of course.” He was thinking about the picture he’d seen in that book again. Ylsa had told him what to do. It sounded complicated and messy and depraved, and it was all he could think about. He wanted that with Theon, even if it was complicated and messy and depraved.

But for now he was happy as Theon reached between them and wrapped his slender archer’s fingers around his aching cock. He could stay like this forever—just the two of them, not even the entire ship but just this little cabin. He let his head roll back on the pillow. _I love you_.

Theon’s movements slowed.

Robb popped his eyes open. Had he said that out loud? From the look on Theon’s face, he had.

“Was that…is that wrong?” he asked.

“No,” Theon said quickly, “of course not. Or if it is, I don’t care.” He leaned in to kiss Robb, then continued his work. “I love you too.”


	19. Processions and Pomposity

They docked in King’s Landing a month after leaving Pyke, to Theon’s regret. He would miss spending nights alone with Robb, though he supposed Robb would be happy to have some land under his feet again.

The city was a gleaming, stinking wonder, pungent in the warm climate. They had not even reached the Red Keep yet and Theon had started to sweat. A bead of it ran down his back. How did the southerners live like this?

Their procession from the docks drew little attention. The smallfolk, dirty and smelling of shit, looked up as they passed. One or two might have made a half-hearted attempt at a wave, but mostly they were met with bleary-eyed looks. Not the sort of welcome befitting a noble at all. _They’re laughing at us_ , Theon thought, and rankled. _They think they can look down on us because we are not some fancy, pampered lords?_

Asha leaned over on her horse and nudged him. “And they say the Ironborn are a grim lot,” she muttered. Theon wondered what the royal family would make of her, an unmarried woman—dressed like a man and riding her horse like one, no less—accompanied by the likes of Tristofer Botley and Qarl the Maid. Though, he supposed his own traveling companion would draw more attention.

He shot a look behind, to where Robb had been relegated to the back of the line. How would the King react to find the son of one of his enemies here? Surely the man would not have him hurt. Robb was a guest of the Greyjoys, and any act against a member of their party was an act against the entirety of the party. But still, perhaps he should not have brought him.

Robb caught him looking and gave him a reassuring smile. What was he thinking as they travelled to meet the man who had had his father killed? Who had taken both his home and his name from him? Theon felt a small stab of guilt at feeling just the tiniest bit grateful to the man. What would his life be like if Robb had not come into it?

The stink of the city faded—but never completely disappeared—as they entered past the Keep’s gates. Asha waved off the stable hand who offered her a hand down from her horse, opting to dismount herself. Theon followed her lead. Let them see that Greyjoys were not soft southerners who needed servants to wipe their asses.

A sizeable group had seen fit to meet them in the courtyard, at least. Beside the royal family, Theon saw the sigils of House Lannister and House Connington. He seemed to remember the two Houses had been joined after Robert Baratheon’s failed rebellion: the eldest daughter of Tywin Lannister wed to Jon Connington, known as “Griff.” He was also a bit surprised to see the sigil of House Baratheon, which would make the dark-haired young man wearing it Renly Baratheon, Robert’s youngest brother and the current Lord of Storm’s End.

The King stood with his wife and children, his brother and sister standing behind them. The first impression Theon had of Rhaegar Targaryen was that he was very handsome, for an older man. He looked older than his age, even, because of the white hair, though Theon had been told white hair was a mark of the Targaryen line, as surely as red hair was a mark of the Tullys’. He saw it in Rhaegar’s son, Aegon, and in his brother and sister, who all had the same white hair and violet-colored eyes. Queen Elia and Princess Rhaenys were the outliers, with their dark hair and dark eyes.

“Lord Greyjoy, Lady Greyjoy,” Rhaegar greeted them.

Theon and Asha bowed. “Your Graces,” Asha acknowledged, keeping her tone respectfully neutral.

“It is a pleasure to be here,” Theon added.

“The pleasure is all ours,” the King’s brother, Viserys, said in return, a thin smile on his thin lips. “King’s Landing has not hosted the Ironborn for such a long time. Not since well before the failed rebellion.” There was a definite hint of reproach in his voice.

Rhaegar shot him a warning glance, and the smile faded from the prince’s mouth. “We are glad to have you, my lord, my lady. We look forward to strengthening our bonds with House Greyjoy.”

Queen Elia spoke up. “Might you introduce your party to us, Lord Greyjoy?”

Theon looked up and over to where Robb stood off to the side with Tristofer and Qarl. “Certainly, Your Grace,” he answered. His hesitation was brief, but surely didn’t go unnoticed. Best to be upfront, he decided, lest they suspect he was trying to sneak an enemy into their home under their noses. Which, he was.

“These are my menservants,” Asha said, not skipping a beat. “Tristofer of House Botley and Qarl of House…Maid.” Both men bowed before the royal family, and made an absolute mess of it. “I trust them with my life.”

“I see,” Elia said with an unreadable smile. If she took offense that Qarl was obviously of low birth, she didn’t show it. “And _your_ traveling companion, my lord?”

“This is my father’s ward,” Theon said, gesturing to Robb, who looked like a hooked fish in that instant. “Robb Snow.”

“Snow?” Aegon repeated. “That’s not an Ironborn name.”

“No,” Theon said simply. “It’s not.”

A moment of tense silence passed, and only grew tenser as the realization sank in, just who this redheaded bastard was. He saw it on the face of the King and Queen, their confusion turning to shock. He held his breath.

“You are Eddard Stark’s son,” Rhaegar said at last.

Robb nodded.

Rhaegar was very still for a moment, some unknown thoughts clearly racing about behind his violet eyes. Then he stepped forward. Everyone tensed. Robb looked like he wanted to bolt as Rhaegar knelt down in front of him. “Your father was a great man, Robb, an honorable man.”

Robb nodded again.

“I know my father wronged your family. I know that _I_ wronged your family. I am truly sorry that everything happened the way it did. Not a day goes by where I don’t think…” He trailed off. “I wish things had been different between our Houses.”

“Your Grace,” Griff said. “You don’t need—”

“I do need,” Rhaegar shot back, and that silenced the man. He turned back to Robb. “Are they treating you well, on the Iron Islands?”

Robb nodded.

“Good,” Rhaegar said with a small smile. “That is good.” He patted Robb’s shoulder and stood. “If there is anything I can do to make your stay comfortable, all you need do is ask.”

“Uh…” Robb opened his mouth, then quickly closed it.

Theon’s heart raced, seeing him struggle like a landed fish.

“Go on,” Rhaegar said, and there was not a hint of malice in his voice. “You may speak.”

“I…I had heard that I have a cousin…”

Theon couldn’t help but notice the way Queen Elia’s pretty face soured, just for an instant. It was Rhaegar who spoke. “Yes, you do. Jon Waters could not join us at the moment, but I will certainly introduce you to him later.”

“Your Grace, I would appreciate that very much,” Robb murmured. “Thank you.”

As the party made their way inside, Theon wanted nothing more than to put an arm around Robb, hold his hand, kiss his cheek. But he held himself stiff. The most he could do was catch his eye and give him an affirmative nod and hope Robb knew he meant to comfort him, reassure him that all would be well. But they weren’t on the ship anymore, and they needed to be careful again.

Above all else, they needed to be careful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Meeting Jon.


	20. Bastards and Banquets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In canon, Jon is named after Jon Arryn, so in this 'verse, we'll just say he's named after Jon Connington. None of this Targaryen name nonsense. I will never not laugh when the show calls him Aegon Targaryen, because Rhaegar's first son's name was _already_ Aegon Targaryen. It reminds me of [this scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dGAopOxYxak#t=50s) from King of the Hill.

Robb hadn’t called anyone kin in so long, he’d almost forgotten what family was. He vividly recalled his mother’s red hair, less vividly his uncle’s long face, and not at all his father, who had been away fighting when Robb had been born. His cousin Jon looked most closely to how he remembered his uncle, dark hair and grey eyes. Robb certainly didn’t remember Uncle Benjen being so…pretty. But, of course, that had been well before he’d been aware of such things and he hadn’t seen Uncle Benjen in many years, so it was _possible_ …

What was more likely was that Jon Waters had inherited his father’s looks—his full lips, his jaw line, his fine cheekbones. Robb felt himself blushing as the boy studied him with equal curiosity. There was something very sad about his eyes.

They had been placed together at the end of the table, the bastards, the eyesores.

“You are…from my mother’s House?” Jon asked.

“Yes,” Robb replied, picking at his food. The southern food smelled wonderful, a heady mix of spices in stark contrast to the bland and salty food of the Iron Islands. “I was.”

“Did you know her? My mother?”

“No, I never met her. Or my father. Or our Uncle Brandon.” So many Starks laid to early graves by the family that now fed him.

Robb checked once again on Theon, seated near the head of the table by the King and Queen. He did not know what to make of Their Graces. He had fully anticipated hating them, and found that he did not. There was anger there, knowing the man who laughed freely as he spoke had killed his kin and robbed him of his family. But it was not the sort of anger he had expected.

“What can you tell me about the court?” he asked, turning back to Jon. He could at least help Theon on his mission, and Jon seemed like a good place to start. From what he had seen so far, most of the court didn’t pay him much mind, which meant Jon probably saw and heard more than he let on.

The sullen boy was silent for a moment, then jerked his head towards the table across from them. “The boy over there.” Robb saw two, both with Cersei Connington’s golden hair. “The older one,” Jon elaborated. “Joffrey Connington. Stay away from him.”

“Why?”

Jon poked at his food with his fork. “He’s a horrible bully. He hates bastards.”

Robb studied the boy in question, and his two blond-haired siblings, seated between their parents. The Lord and Lady Connington did not seem overly fond of each other, Robb noted. Funny that all three children should take after their mother in looks, not a one after their father. But that thought was neither here nor there.

“I appreciate the warning,” he said to Jon. “But you needn’t worry about me. We Ironborn can handle ourselves.”

“Oh?” Jon blinked. “Then you consider yourself Ironborn?”

_Robb_ blinked. He hadn’t meant to say that. “I don’t…know,” he said honestly, thinking about how it had just dribbled out of his mouth. Was he Ironborn? He was certainly more of the Iron Islands than he was of the North. And as much as he despised them, the Iron Islands had been his home for so long, the people and their ways indelibly engrained into him.

“I don’t rightly know what I am sometimes either,” Jon said with a sympathetic smile. “The Queen tolerates me, but I am a living reminder of her husband’s infidelity. And my father…I believe he would be happier to have my mother in my place. It is a strange feeling, to know the circumstances of your birth created a war, the people involved were that important. But me? I’m a shadow. Hardly anyone notices me. I believe everyone would be much happier if I simply vanished.”

Robb knew the feeling.

“I think I may go to the Wall,” Jon continued, and Robb had the distinct impression the boy had not intended to say as much as he already had, that these were thoughts he had been carrying by himself for many years now. “I had heard that even bastards can make something of themselves up there, on the Night’s Watch.”

Yes, Robb remembered the Night’s Watch brother telling him the same thing. And how adamantly Theon had opposed it.

“Perhaps I can stop by Winterfell on my way and see our Uncle Benjen,” Jon said. “I am sure he would be happy to hear news of you.”

“It’s very cold up North,” Robb said, “not at all like it is down here.” Truth be told, it was too warm down here. The heavy clothes he’d brought from the Iron Islands proved to be uncomfortable. “And, of course, you can’t take wives at the Wall.”

“The Kingsguard can’t take wives either,” Jon pointed out, nodding towards Jaime Lannister, sitting next to his sister and her husband. The Kingslayer. The man who had killed King Rhaegar’s father. Why hadn’t _he_ been sent to the Wall? Or executed and his head put on a pike? Rhaegar was a strange man indeed to keep a Kingslayer so close to the King.

“Have you ever given a thought to traveling?” Robb asked, putting the thought from his head.

“Traveling?”

“Have you ever been on a ship?”

“A few times,” Jon admitted. “When we travel to Dragonstone.”

“Do you like it?”

“I don’t hate it. Why do you ask?”

“Theon and I…Lord Greyjoy and I are in the process of hiring on a crew for our ship.”

Jon’s eyes widened, and Robb wondered if maybe he had overstepped his bounds. He didn’t know a thing about Jon Waters, if he was trustworthy, if he’d known a hard day’s work in his life. But he was kin, in more ways than just blood.

“What manner of ship?”

“Trading,” Robb answered evasively.

Jon furrowed his brow. “Well…I had not given much thought to the life of a sailor.”

“Give it some thought,” Robb said. “There is always a place available to you with us, should you choose it.”

“That is a kind offer,” Jon said, his face breaking in a small, albeit genuine smile. “I must say, you are not at all what I imagined when I heard the Ironborn would be paying us a visit.”

“Oh, no?”

A faint pink colored Jon’s cheeks as he glanced down. “I don’t intend to cause offense, my lord—”

“I’m no lord.”

“—but I had heard that you were…savages.”

“Oh?” Robb disguised his bemused smile as a smirk. “What do they say about the savages of the Iron Islands?”

“They say you make nothing of your own, and that you are proud of it, that you take whatever you need from others.”

Robb leaned his elbow on the table and his cheek against his hand. “I suppose it depends on what you mean by ‘need.’ The Ironborn take what they want, and what they can get away with.”

“They say you worship a wanton god who demands sacrifice. They say you drown babes in the ocean to appease this god.”

“Babes? No,” Robb said with a shake of his head. “What would the Drowned God want with children? He wants strong warriors in His halls.” He leaned forward slightly, as if divulging a secret. Jon, in turn, leaned forward as well. “I worship the Old Gods, as my father did. But the more time I spend on the Iron Islands, the more convinced I am that the Drowned God is merely one of the Old Gods. There are no heart trees on the Islands, after all. Hardly any trees grow at all. So He shows His presence the only way He knows how—with winds and waves.”

“The High Septon says the Old Gods are wanton too,” Jon said, without a hint of piety in his voice. “You may be onto something.”

“What else do they say about us?”

“They say that if you offend them, you are lucky to come away with a missing finger or ear. So I truly hope I haven’t offended you.”

Robb grinned in response. It was a little nice, thinking all these lords and ladies, the very people who had murdered his family and torn him from his home, might fear him. Balon would be happy to hear such talk going about the court. Theon, too, maybe. Asha, definitely.

The latter was seated between Theon and the King’s brother. Robb had barely recognized her when she’d made her grand entrance. Seeing Asha in a dress was akin to seeing a man in a dress—it just wasn’t done.

“You are here to find a good match for Lord and Lady Greyjoy,” Jon said, eyebrows raised as if it was a question.

“Yes. Why, do you have a suggestion?”

Jon shook his head. “Not exactly. I already warned you about Joffrey, but it’s well known Lady Connington intends to betroth him to my sister. I pity Rhaenys if she should end up with a lord husband such as him.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Just as I would pity Lady Greyjoy if she should end up with Viserys as a husband.”

Robb shot a glance down the table, to where the King’s brother sat next to Asha. “Another bully?” he hazarded.

“The court is full of them,” Jon said. “If you have any weight with Lord and Lady Greyjoy, advise her not to marry Viserys.”

Then it was a good thing they had no intention of allying themselves with the Targaryens. The exact opposite, in fact. He might warn Asha regardless.


	21. Jousting and Jealousy

Robb was sitting next to his cousin, the two of them whispering between themselves. Obviously a frivolous matter, since both of them would occasionally crack a smile and a laugh at something that Theon could not hear from where he was seated, closer to the King and the royal family. He tried to keep his hackles down. Robb and Jon were seated together because they were bastards and thus not allowed among the noble Houses, and not because Robb preferred Jon’s company to his own.

Although, Jon was pretty.

“Is this your first tourney, Lord Greyjoy?”

Theon felt a distinct annoyance at having his attention pulled away from Robb and Jon and their…whispering. “Yes, my lord,” he responded to the enquirer. “We do not have such things on the Iron Islands.” He forced himself to smile.

The Queen’s brother smiled back. “But you are familiar with the concept?”

“I do know what jousting is, yes,” he replied, perhaps a bit peevishly. There was assuming he was a savage, and then there was assuming he was an uncultured idiot. “The Ironborn don’t _play_ at fighting, ser. The closest thing we have is finger dancing, which I’ve heard is a little like jousting—a sort of game of chicken men play at. Only you’re more likely to lose your hand than your life with dancing.”

The Queen’s brother tilted his head back and laughed. “A game of chicken, I like it. And please, I am no ser. You may call me Oberyn.” He clapped Theon on the back, and instead of rankling, Theon felt as if he had passed some test set by this man. It felt oddly…brotherly. “I think I would like to see your finger dancing sometime. But for today, we will enjoy the show.”

He pointed to a man in white armor astride a white mare. A bold choice, given all the dust churned up from the trampling of hooves across the dirt field. And yet there seemed to be not a speck on either man or beast.

“That is Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers,” Oberyn explained. “He’s a favorite to win.”

Theon had heard talk of the Knight of Flowers, and he had to admit the stories he had taken as exaggeration truly did not do the man justice. He was a striking figure, even without his horse and gleaming armor. The women called out and waved kerchiefs at him as he passed, begging him to take their favors; Theon almost had the urge to join them.

“He would make a good match.”

Theon blinked. “What?”

“For your sister,” Oberyn said, and Theon breathed in relief. For a moment he thought he’d failed to adequately disguise his thoughts. “House Tyrell is one of the wealthiest in the Seven Kingdoms. _The_ wealthiest, depending on who you ask. He has a sister, you know, but it is well-known she has her eye on Aegon. She will have to fight Cersei Lannister for his hand. The lioness intends to wed her daughter Myrcella to the Crown Prince.”

“You mean Lady Connington?” Theon clarified.

Oberyn smirked, as if barely holding back laughter. “She may be wed to House Connington, but she remains a lion to her core. Of course, if anyone can hold their own against Cersei, it is Margaery. It will be interesting to see who is left standing when the dust settles.” He let out a weary sigh. “Such a shame. Margaery is as comely as her brother. I would not mind to have either in my bed.”

Theon’s head whipped around. Had Oberyn meant to say that?

Apparently he had, because he winked knowingly at Theon. “Such a chore to choose, sometimes, isn’t it? You should visit Dorne sometime. We don’t look down on those who have a difficult time choosing. Nor would we look down on your traveling companion.” He nodded with his chin to where Robb and Jon were still immersed in conversation. “Perhaps you may even consider a Dornish wife and join our two Houses?”

Theon considered that. The Martells were perhaps the closest allies of the Targaryens, for obvious reasons. On the other, Dorne, like the Iron Islands, knew the value of independence, and Dorne alone had stood against the Targaryen conquest three hundred years ago. They might yet make good allies.

There was a slight commotion, and Theon and Oberyn—and everyone in attendance, really—stood as King Rhaegar made his appearance with Queen Elia. The way they held hands, the way they held their heads high, eyes always facing forward and never towards each other—maybe to others it was a show of dignified royal grace, but to Theon, is spoke of a Queen who had not let her husband touch her since he had taken a mistress and started a civil war. It must be especially galling to Queen Elia to be reminded of her public embarrassment at the tourney where Rhaegar had named his mistress the Queen of Love and Beauty. Theon had heard rumors, both that Queen Elia refused to share her bed with him and that Rhaegar had taken a vow of chastity since Lyanna Stark’s death.

 _What a miserable thing_ , he thought, watching them, _to be trapped together by politics_.

“Welcome, all,” Rhaegar called. He swept his hand out towards the field of dirt, where the jousters had lined up on their horses. “I should like to dedicate today’s festivities in the name of my son, Aegon Targaryen. Today is not only his name day, but his debut as a contestant.” He nodded to the jouster at the end, concealed in his armor, but the crest of House Targaryen gracing his shield and his horse’s finery.

 _I pity the man who unhorses the prince on his name day_ , Theon thought.

He thought they might go easy on the prince, but in fact, Loras Tyrell unseated him with ease. There was a sharp gasp from the audience as the Knight of Flowers’s lance struck against the Crown Prince’s shield, snapping but also sending the latter crashing to the ground as his horse charged onwards. For a moment, there was the anticipation that he had been truly hurt. But he quickly rolled to his feet and pulled off his helmet and flashed a charming smile to the audience, who applauded wildly.

 _So, he has his father’s good nature_ , Theon thought, looking from one to the other. Sparing a glance to Jon Waters. Did Jon also share his father’s good nature? Was he even now charming Robb?

Theon shook his head. That was paranoid thinking. Jon would not be so bold. He probably did not even have a fondness for boys. Robb was merely acquainting himself with his kin. _The most mundane explanation is usually the correct one_ , as Maester Ulric was fond of saying.

Still, he couldn’t keep the sour feeling out of his stomach. All around him, people gasped and cheered and cried out in either alarm or merriment, but he was focused on two bastards sharing a conversation he couldn’t hear.

 

***

 

Aegon, obviously, did not win the tourney, but there was a feast in his honor afterwards. It was still his name day, after all. The young prince laughed and japed about his own miserable showing. He even congratulated Loras, who had gone on to win the tourney, for beating him so soundly. “At least I can say I was unseated by a great knight,” he said.

For his part, Theon thought the Crown Prince was insane. Just like his father had been insane to apologize so publically to Robb. Were they _trying_ to make themselves look weak in front of the smallfolk and noble Houses alike?

“That’s just the way he is,” Jon said, perhaps responding to some poorly disguised look of confusion on Theon’s face. It seemed the bastard was not one for parties, either, because he hung back from the revelry with Theon and Robb. “Nothing puts him in a bad mood.”

“If I were poised to become King,” Robb said, “I don’t suppose I would ever be in a bad mood either.”

Jon didn’t smile at Robb’s obvious joke. Perhaps Aegon was never in a bad mood because his half-brother simply absorbed every bit of bad mood into himself.

“What did you think of the tourney?” Robb asked, an enthusiasm in his voice that left little doubt what _he_ had thought of it.

“It was amusing,” Theon answered.

“Don’t you think it would be great to be a knight?”

“Those pompous pricks on horses?” Theon snorted.

“They’re great fighters,” Robb said. “You saw them out there today.”

“They’re great at knocking each other down. That’s not the same as being a great fighter.”

“What about Barristan Selmy and Arthur Dayne? They fought in real battles, and they were supposed to be the best fighters of their generation.”

Theon just rolled his eyes. “Yes, but somebody had to _make_ them knights. Maybe there was a better fighter than Dayne or Selmy, but he was some lowly bastard who never made it past squire.” He’d just been trying to make a point that Robb shouldn’t idolize something he could never be, but the look of hurt that crossed Robb’s face made him quickly regret his words. “I just mean,” he pushed on, “I’d rather have a ship than a horse any day.”

“You wanted a horse really badly when you were seven,” Robb pointed out. “Remember, you said he was going to be black as the dark of night and you were going to call him Smokey.”

“Yes, well…” Theon muttered, feeling his collar heat up in embarrassment. But at least Robb didn’t have that kicked-puppy-dog look anymore. “I was a child. I’m a man now. And I’m due to get my own ship soon, aren’t I?”

Robb’s face lit up. “That’s right.” He grabbed Jon’s arm and gave it a rough jerk, as if trying to gain his attention, though Jon was already paying attention. “That’s what I was telling you about the other night. Our ship.”

He’d been telling Jon about their ship? Theon was immediately on edge. What else had he been telling him?

“Jon wants to join our crew,” Robb continued.

Theon blinked, trying to process that before it struck him. “What? No, he can’t.”

Robb blinked, possibly trying to process that, before he frowned. “Why not?”

“He doesn’t know anything about ships.” He gestured frantically to Jon. “Do you know anything about ships?”

Jon shook his head.

“We’ll teach him.”

“He can’t be on our crew. He’s not Ironborn.”

“I’m not Ironborn either,” Robb shot back, raising his voice. A few of the partygoers glanced over at them. “If Jon’s not good enough for your crew, than I’m not either.”

He might as well have hit Theon full in the face with a morning star, or run him through with a sword. After reeling for a moment, he caught his feet and swung back.

“Fine then! When we leave, you can just stay here and be a knight. I don’t give a shit.”

He spun and stormed away, pushing through guests without thought. He would have shoved the Crown Prince himself if he’d been in his way, so intent was he on simply getting out of there. He heard Robb calling, “Theon!” He ignored it.

Robb caught up to him halfway to his room. Grabbed his shoulders and shoved him up against the wall. Theon tried to push him off, but Robb was strong. When had he gotten so strong? So broad-shouldered? So tall?

“What’s wrong with you?” Robb demanded. “Why are you acting like this?”

“You invited someone to join our ship,” Theon hissed. “Without even asking me.”

“Jon is my kin.”

“You want to fuck him.”

Robb’s eyebrows shot up.

“You want to fuck him,” Theon repeated, “and forget all about me.”

“Is that what you think?”

“It’s true. We’ve been here hardly a week and already you would rather spend your days with him.”

Robb bared his teeth. “And what else am I suppose to do when you are off looking for a _wife_?”

“You can’t be serious. It’s why we came here.”

“Yes, why we came here. To replace me.”

They stared at each other, unblinking for several long moments, challenging. The hallway was dark. From far down the corridor, the faint sounds of the party drifted out to them.

At last, Theon looked away with an indignant snort. “We’ve been over this. It’s politics and nothing more. You told me you understood.”

“I do understand,” Robb said, and his grip on Theon’s shoulders became harsher. “At least, part of me understands. The other part of me doesn’t want to share you with anyone.”

The gaze they shared was less challenging this time.

“I don’t want to share you with anyone either,” Theon admitted.

He wasn’t sure who acted first, only that Robb’s lips were on his and his hands were in Robb’s hair, and Robb still had him up against the wall, and he’d never felt so vulnerable and dominated and he needed more.

But he pulled away, put his hands on Robb’s chest and pushed gently. “Not here.”

Robb just nodded and grabbed his hand. “My room. I want to show you something.”

Intrigued, Theon followed behind him eagerly. They left the sounds of the party completely behind. The rest of the castle seemed deserted, only the occasional guard passing by without giving them any notice. Nonetheless, Robb threw himself against his bedroom door and latched it before hurrying to his traveling trunk and rummaging around inside. Theon sat on the bed and watched. Eventually, Robb reappeared over the side of the bed holding a vial of viscous liquid.

“Ylsa said there was a special oil for it, but I’m afraid the best I could manage was lamp oil.”

“For what?” Theon asked, though if it were Ylsa, it must be something…indecent. A pleasant shudder ran down his spine.

“I want…” Robb looked down at the vial, then back up at Theon, as if gathering his resolve. “I want your cock inside me.”

“My cock has been inside you,” Theon noted, “and yours in me.”

Robb shook his head. “No, I mean…not in my mouth.”

Understanding dawned. “Oh,” he said. “You want…?”

“If you want,” Robb said. “Ylsa told me how to do it. I’ve been…practicing. With my fingers. But I want you.”

Another shudder as he imagined Robb alone in his room, “practicing.”

“Tell me what to do,” Theon said. “Show me.”

And Robb showed him.


	22. Baths and Bold Women

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know, you guys. That last chapter was pretty gay, but...I think we can do even better. So here's Asha gaying up the place a little more.
> 
> Oh, warning for Viserys being a level 10 creep.

Asha sighed as she dropped into the crystal clear water, foregoing the shallow stairs altogether. The water only came up to her waist, but she could bring the level up to her chin by squatting down. The tiles were smooth against her bare ass; the grout was rough.

The Targaryens had brought their bathhouses with them from Essos, and the royal baths certainly seemed something fitting of Old Valyeria. White-marbled columns held aloft walls on all sides, providing privacy and peace. The white tiles of the pool made the water appear especially clear and inviting.

Baths were a luxury on the Iron Islands, but in the south, they became a necessity. To alleviate the heat of the day, if not necessarily to keep yourself clean. She would have preferred the ocean, but she was not allowed out of the Keep. _“For your own safety, my lady.”_ As if she could not take care of herself, even without Tris and Qarl. Both of whom were probably out drinking or whoring or both.

She would much rather join them, but she could temper herself. They were not here to drink and whore. They were not here to plunder. They were here to find Theon a wife. And her a husband, though she had made no headway in that department and had no intention of making headway.

Theon did not want a wife any more than she wanted a husband, she knew that, but at least Theon could still be mostly free, even when married. He was not expected to stay at home and birth children until he either died in the process or else his body became too worn for it. No, by the Drowned God, she would not do it. Not for all the ships in all the seas. And her father could not make her.

She heard footsteps, and a startled, “Oh!” She raised her head from the water to see none other than one of the princesses standing there, accompanied by two of her handmaidens. Daenerys, she recalled, remembering she had sat next to the girl last night at her nephew’s name day party and thinking she was a particular beauty. A flush was growing on the princess’s face as she clutched at the towel wrapped about her body. “I…I’m sorry,” she stammered. “There was no one posted at the door. I…I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“It’s not intrusion,” Asha said. “I will be done shortly. Or you may join me if you wish.”

Daenerys looked to her handmaidens, as if asking them for permission.

Asha splashed water at her in what she hoped was a playful manner. “We’re all women here, my lady. I promise to avert my eyes if it will make you more comfortable.”

To her surprise, Daenerys grinned back cheekily and dropped her towel, handing it to the nearest handmaiden.

Asha hoped she was not blushing. She was not some virgin boy who had never seen a naked woman before. The princess was lovely, though. Her skin was tanned—did she ride? She must spend some time out of doors for the glow of her skin. It made her hair appear all the paler, as white as snow. Her eyelashes were white as well, making it appear as though she had none. Asha had to look very closely to see the pale lashes sweeping over her violet eyes.

The princess lowered herself into the pool more elegantly than Asha had, using the shallow steps. Asha supposed it would not be too amiss to watch her out of the corner of her eye, the way the water rose past her shins, then her hips and the thatch of white-colored hair there as well. The princess made her way over to Asha before also sinking down up to her chin, leaning her neck against the side of the pool so that her bound hair would not get wet.

“I envy your short hair,” she said with a smile. “It must dry very fast.”

Asha ran a hand through her sopping wet hair. She imagined she must look like an absolute cur next to the princess, but to her mind, staying dry defeated the purpose of getting wet in the first place.

“ _I_ do not think it makes you look like a boy at all,” Daenerys mused. Then her eyebrows flew up in alarm, as if she had divulged too much.

Asha just laughed. So, _someone_ at court had been talking about her. The thought amused her to no end. “Long hair has no place on a ship. I’ve had to have more than one of my men cut theirs.”

Daenerys’s eyes went wide. “I had heard…you captain your own ship. I did not realize they allowed women to do such things on the Iron Islands.”

“Normally they don’t,” Asha said.

“Then how did you manage such a feat?”

“The key is not to ask. You can spend your whole life screaming louder and longer than anyone else around you, but nobody will give you anything. Nothing is given on the Iron Islands. You have to take it.”

“You sound like a bold woman,” Daenerys said. “I can appreciate a bold woman.”

“Oh, you can?”

Daenerys smiled coyly. “Honestly, I believe some of the men are afraid of you.”

“You flatter me, Princess.”

“I’m glad you take it as flattery, Lady Greyjoy. And please, call me Dany.”

“Only if you drop the ‘Lady Greyjoy’ nonsense and call me Asha.”

“Asha,” Dany said, and her name sounded positively brimming with mystique on the princess’s lips. “What is it like on the Iron Islands? I would love to know.”

“Bleak,” Asha answered. “Grim. Windy. Cold. We do not take outdoor baths,” she added with another playful splash. “We prefer our baths warm and our swims icy cold. And salty.”

“You swim in the ocean often?”

“Only when I feel like freezing my tits off.”

Dany did not look particularly scandalized at her language and instead merely laughed. “I swim in the ocean sometimes too. There is a wide beach on Dragonstone.” The smile fell away from her face. “I go there to be alone sometimes.”

Asha wondered at the princess’s sadness but did not pry. It was none of her business.

Dany sighed as she leaned her head back against the edge of the pool and closed her eyes. Weightlessly, she drifted like that, a look of serene bliss on her face. This close, Asha could definitely make out her eyelashes—they were quite long, and elegant.

“I wish I could stay here forever,” she breathed.

“Here?”

“In this pool, with you.” Her cheeks turned red. “I mean, away from everything. From the court. From my brother.”

“Your brother?” Asha asked. “Is Rhaegar really so horrible?”

“Not him…” Dany murmured, just as a door banged against a wall and heeled boots clicked across the tiled floor.

“Dany!”

Dany’s handmaidens cried out in surprise as Prince Viserys stormed into the courtyard, a sour look on his face. One of the girls hurried to grab Dany’s towel. “My lord, you can’t be in here.”

“I can be where I want,” he said, knocking the towel from her hands. It fell on the floor in a dirty puddle and he trod over it. “I need a word with my sister.”

“My lord—”

He smacked the girl across the face. “Get out, you whores!”

The handmaidens clutched at each other, the one still cradling her face, and together they scurried off like frightened mice. All the while, Dany had managed to climb from the pool and retrieve the sodden towel. She wrapped it around herself as Viserys turned to her with a sneer.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” she murmured, staring at the floor. Water dripped down her bare legs, and Asha did not like the way the prince stared at them. “I posted a guard…”

“And I dismissed him,” Viserys said. “If I want to speak with my sister, I will.”

“What do you want?”

He took a step towards her, his hand reaching for her towel. “Come now, you don’t need to hide yourself from me.”

“Who’s hiding?”

Two sets of violet eyes turned to Asha as she pulled herself up from the pool and stood to her feet, hands on her hips, feet apart, as naked as her first name day. She made no attempt to cover herself. Funny that Viserys seemed less appreciative of a naked woman who was not afraid of him. In fact, he looked bewildered, as if he had not initially noticed her at all.

“Prince Viserys,” she said, nodding as if to acknowledge him. “A pleasure to see you again.”

“Lady Greyjoy,” he said, meeting her gaze. At least he was aware enough to know when she was challenging him. “Perhaps you could give me and my sister a moment in private?”

“I think, maybe, you’re the one who should give us a moment in private,” she said, taking a deliberate step towards him. He stepped back. So, her initial assessment of him was correct. “You are rather more dressed than either of us. Or perhaps I should tell your brother that you were spying on his guest under his roof?”

Viserys narrowed his eyes, but he would not do anything. And if he did, she would knock him down. She had little doubt the boy hadn’t been in a fight in his life. She had been in plenty.

“I expect to speak to you later,” he growled at Dany, “when you are more decent.” And then he turned and stormed from the bath.

“I see why you spend so much time alone on Dragonstone,” Asha said with a disgusted sneer. But when she turned to Dany, the princess was shaking, despite the warmth of the day. Her face had become pale, her lips drawn so tightly they were colorless.

“I…I am sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know why I allow him to…” Her eyes sought out the tiles again. “I wish I could stand up to him, but…he frightens me.”

Asha sighed and took the girl gently by the shoulders. “I know he frightens you. My brothers used to bully me as well.” Though she suspected there was more to Viserys’s treatment of his sister than “bullying.” “So I will tell you, you will never realize just how fragile he is until you stand up to him.”

Her eyes sought out Asha’s. “I wish I were bold, like you.”

“I’m sure you have plenty of your own boldness.” Asha put a hand under her chin. “You just haven’t found it yet.”

Dany smiled uncertainly.

“But if he continues to frighten you, come to me, won’t you? I’ll give him a taste of what his whining would earn him on the Iron Islands.”


	23. Deals and Decisions

Theon threaded his fingers through Robb’s hair. Robb stirred and rolled over.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine. A bit sore, but…” He winced as he sat up. “What time is it?”

“I thought I would let you sleep in.” Theon reached for the nightstand and tossed Robb the apple he had stolen from the kitchens.

Robb fumbled for the apple, then stared at it as if he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Breakfast.”

“I have not had breakfast in bed since the last time I was sick.”

“You haven’t been sick in a long time, have you?” Theon noted.

Robb smiled sadly. “I was sick often as a child. It was too damp on the Iron Islands for a Northern boy like me.”

“You adapted. You’re strong, Robb. Ironborn strong.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Robb bit into the apple. “I really am fine,” he said as he chewed. Fleshy bits of fruit flew from his mouth, and he hurried to cover it up. “Ylsa told me it would hurt, but it was not that bad.”

“Did you enjoy it?” Theon asked, hopefully. He had certainly enjoyed it, but the thought that Robb had not sat wrong in his stomach.

Robb swallowed and smiled. “I did. Even when it hurt, it felt like…we were so close I couldn’t tell where I began and you ended. I think…perhaps not every night, but I would do it again.” He winced again. “I think my ass will need time to heal.”

“Mayhaps you can show me how to do it,” Theon said. Although he had long known of such things, in an abstract sense, it had often been presented as something shameful, womanish, an act of submission. But Robb made it sound…interesting. At the very least, his curiosity was piqued.

He left Robb to get ready for the day. He couldn’t help but be a little miffed as he made his way back to his room. Robb had been planning this, obviously, but did he realize what he’d done? Did he realize how he’d thrown Theon’s whole plan into a spiral?

He’d thought he would be able to compartmentalize his marriage—a wife he kept on land for political reasons, a friend and lover to share the seas with. But Robb wanted all of him. And…he wanted all of Robb.

Ridiculous ideas ran through his head. They would put Robb in a dress and introduce him as the daughter of a lesser known but wealthy family from the Stormlands. Or they could hire Ylsa to play the role; she would no doubt jump at the opportunity to escape the whorehouse and live as Lady Greyjoy in the castle. But what would happen when his father demanded her family’s ships and wealth? When he needed to produce an heir? Perhaps he could find a blind daughter of a noble House and hire some man to play her “lord husband, Theon Greyjoy.”

He had half a dozen similarly insane ideas by the time he reached his room. All of them fled when he saw Asha leaning against his door, arms folded over her chest, foot tapping impatiently on the marble floor. “Have you been waiting for me?” he asked.

She scowled at him and flicked her damp hair. Droplets of water flew in his face. “I have a bargain for you.”

“Oh?”

“I want you to marry Daenerys Targaryen.”

Theon stood perfectly still. “What?”

“Ask Rhaegar for her hand in marriage.”

“Are you mad? In case you hadn’t noticed—” He quickly lowered his voice. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re supposed to be looking for _allies_ , not tying ourselves to the throne.”

“Screw the throne,” Asha said. “Dany doesn’t belong here with these people.”

“Dany?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Please, Theon. I would marry her myself if I could, but you’re the next best thing.”

“Why would I marry the King’s sister?”

“Because if you marry her, I’ll marry Robb.”

The floor seemed to fall out from under his feet. He was immediately on edge, trying to grasp for her motive. “You would tie yourself to a bastard?”

“A bastard who has kin among the Starks _and_ the Tullys, both of whom I’m sure have not forgotten what the throne did to them.”

Theon thought about that. It would create a stir, the only daughter of Balon Greyjoy marrying a mainland bastard, but such things certainly weren’t unheard of on the Iron Islands.

“Father won’t be pleased if I bring home a Targaryen bride.”

“Then we’ll spin it so that he _is_ pleased,” Asha said without skipping a beat. “I’ll come up with some reason marrying Daenerys Targaryen is tactically sound. You know Father trusts me.”

“Yes,” Theon admitted, somewhat bitterly. More than their father trusted him.

“If we’re able to pull this off, it would benefit the both of us.” She took his hands in hers, which startled him so that he almost jerked out of her grasp. “Please, Theon, you know I don’t often beg.” He couldn’t remember her ever begging for anything. “I need your help on this and I’m willing to help you in return. Let us both get what we want.”

He took a deep sigh. Though he still had some reservations about whether this would work or not— _thought the boy who only a moment ago was putting Robb into a dress_ —he wanted this to work. “I’ll speak with King Rhaegar today,” he said. “I’ll say I found Daenerys—”

“—call her Dany,” Asha interrupted, “so that you seem more familiar.”

“I’ll say I found Dany an enchanting young woman and would very much like her hand in marriage.”

Asha pulled him in for a hug, which startled him more than when she’d taken his hands. “Thank you, Theon. I will write Father right away and tell him of my plan to wed Robb as well.”

“Ah…um…”

The tiny voice cut right into him.

They jumped apart from each other. Then, as one, they whirled to see who had caught them in the act of showing affection for each other. It was a boy, not terribly younger than Theon, and he stared at them, wide-eyed. They stared back.

“Ah…um…” The boy tried again. “K-King Rhaegar requests your presence right away, m’lord, m’lady. He says it’s urgent.”

Theon and Asha looked at each other; he could read his own thoughts on her face. What were the chances this summons was coincidence? So soon after they had made their own plans to meet with the King? Was it possible he had somehow learned of their plot? There were spies aplenty in King’s Landing. Varys the Spider, Master of Coin Petyr Baelish, even Cersei Connington—Lannister, whatever she went by—was rumored to have eyes and ears in every nook and cranny. But…was it possible someone had overheard and passed word along to the King in so short a time?

He contemplated this as he and Asha hurried to answer the summons. The King’s messenger directed them to the royal solar, so at least it was not to be a public meeting before the Iron Throne in front of the entire court.

Rhaegar was at his desk, a pile of parchments and scrolls scattered across the surface. To his left stood the Grand Maester, absently fiddling with the heavy chains around his neck. Rhaegar looked up from the message he was reading—a raven’s message, judging from the size of it. “Lord and Lady Greyjoy,” he said. His face was very serious. “Thank you for coming. I’m afraid we’ve just received some unfortunate news.”

“Yes, Your Grace?” Theon asked, grateful to get anything out through the lump in his throat.

“It’s your lord father. Two days ago, he slipped and fell from one of Pyke’s bridges.” He handed the raven’s message to them. “He’s dead.”

 

End Part III


	24. PART IV: Age of Acceptance

Theon felt numb as they pulled into Pyke. He’d felt numb ever since the Iron Islands had appeared on the horizon. Even Robb could not seem to shake him out of his stupor. He had expected to return home to his father’s praise, a match well-made, a job well-done. He had not expected to return home to no father at all.

Alannys met them at the docks. Theon allowed her to hug him—a show of comfort for his widowed mother, in actuality a comfort for him. “I’m sorry we could not delay the funeral,” she whispered into his ear. “His body was…the Drowned God wanted him in His halls.”

Theon understood. If he’d fallen off one of the bridges, they had probably not recovered his corpse right away. The crabs and gulls had most likely had time to pick at it, just as they had with Rodrik, and the body would have been bloated and unfit for keeping. It was something all Ironborn accepted.

“Where is Maron?” Asha asked.

“In his room,” Alannys said. “He has hardly come out since it happened.”

“Then he has not taken the Seastone Chair?”

Alannys’s face became very serious. “We were waiting for the two of you to return.”

“You were?” Theon asked in surprise.

“There has been…talk,” she said carefully, “of a Kingsmoot.”

“A Kingsmoot?” Robb asked. “What’s that?”

He wouldn’t know. The last proper Kingsmoot had not occurred in generations, and the passing of the Driftwood Crown from Quellon to Balon had been easy. Theon explained it to Robb as they made their way up to the castle.

“What a strange tradition,” Robb mused, “but I suppose it’s not surprising for the Ironborn. Still, you said it only happens when there’s question as to the succession of an heir? Is there any question about Maron being your father’s heir?”

“I’m not sure,” Theon answered. His mother’s hesitant explanation told him there was more going on beneath the surface of this matter.

At the castle, they were ushered directly to the meeting hall, even Asha and Alannys. Robb alone was allowed rest from their journey, as he was dismissed by the guards. Theon shot him a smile before heading into the hall. Perhaps Asha was unsurprised to find only Maron waiting for them there, but Theon had expected their uncles to be present as well. Maron shooed the guards out and closed and bolted the heavy doors behind them before finally turning to addressing his family.

“I am glad you are back. How was your journey?”

“It was—”

He did not allowed Asha to continue, instead hurrying to the window and rattling it, checking the lock. “Yes, it’s unfortunate that you were called back so quickly. No doubt it’s part of _his_ design, to disrupt Father’s plans.”

“His?” Asha asked, though Theon already suspected.

Maron turned from the window. He had the same haggardness Theon had seen on him following Rodrik’s death. “Euron,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“You’re saying Uncle Euron killed Father?”

Maron lifted a finger to his lips. “Father’s accident was _no_ accident. He walked those bridges a thousand thousand times. You and I and everyone in this room knows he would never slip.”

“It was storming,” Alannys said, half-heartedly.

“No.” Maron shook his head. “Euron killed Rodrik and now he’s killed Father and then he means to kill me.”

“Are you mad?” Asha cried.

“He’s returned from exile to finish what he started.”

Alannys coughed delicately. “There’s been no word of Euron since his exile. If he had returned, somebody would have informed us.”

“He could have used his evil warlock powers.”

“Evil…warlock…powers?” Asha scoffed.

“You’ve seen his dead eye. Who knows what arcane arts he’s learned in his travels? Perhaps he sent a shadow to do it. I don’t know. All I know is that he did it.”

“You mustn’t besmirch your brother and father’s names by lodging such unfounded accusations,” Alannys said.

Maron’s wild eyes roved around the room before landing on Theon. “You believe me, don’t you, Theon? These women, they don’t understand. They don’t understand how devious Euron truly is.”

Theon was locked in place. “Uh…” he stammered.

Maron scowled at him. “Can I at least count on the two of you recognizing my claim to the Seastone Chair? Or are you going to turn on me when Uncle Aeron and Uncle Victarion arrive?”

“No one is turning on you, dear,” Alannys said gently. She tried to reach for his face, but he swatted her hand away. “Perhaps it would be best if everyone rests before the convergence tonight.”

Theon didn’t think _anyone_ was in a good mood as they shuffled from the meeting hall. Maron had well and truly snapped, perhaps had been in the process of snapping since Rodrik’s death. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days, his hair a mess, his eyes bloodshot. He did not look like a man eager and ready to take control of the Iron Islands.

He found Robb in his room, sitting on his travel chest. “I wasn’t sure if I should unpack or not,” he said. “Will we be headed back to King’s Landing or…?”

“I’m not sure either,” Theon admitted, making sure the door was open behind him. They were on the Iron Islands again, and that meant being _careful_. Closed doors left room for speculation and rumor. “Maron is acting oddly.”

“Then…is it true?” Robb asked. “I mean, what they’re saying? Do you think there’s any merit to it?”

Theon cocked his head. “Who’s saying what?”

“I heard some of the servants talking. They’re saying Balon’s fall was not an accident.”

“Maron said the same. He believes Euron is responsible.”

“Euron?” Robb said. “The servants are saying Maron is the one who pushed his father from the bridge. They’re saying he is a kin killer.”

Theon was startled to hear that. Who would think Maron was capable of killing their father? But if the servants were speaking openly enough about it that Robb had overheard, it must have gained some traction among the common folk. If there was one sin the Ironborn would not tolerate, it was kin killing. And if Maron was a kin killer in their eyes, he was not fit to sit the Seastone Chair.

“If there’s not a Kingsmoot,” Theon said, “there might very well be a Thing.”

“What sort of thing?” Robb’s eyes widened. “Oh…a _Thing_.” He had not sat in on any such gatherings, to Theon’s knowledge, but he knew about how trials were conducted on the Iron Islands. If Maron was formally accused, he would be called to stand before the Thing. And if he was found guilty of breaking their laws, he would be cast out, heir or no. And if he was cast out, there might well be a Kingsmoot.

“Robb,” Theon said with a heavy sigh, “I don’t think we’ll be returning to King’s Landing for some time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going forward, we're definitely getting into liberty-taking territory on my part concerning how justice is meted out on the Iron Islands, especially in the absence of a ruler. I've borrowed heavily from Viking culture.


	25. Accession and Altercations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Euron being a level 11 creep. Yes, Euron's back. I hope that's not too much of a spoiler.

Robb was good at making himself scarce, especially during House Greyjoy meetings. The hallways he had so often gotten lost in as a child were now the perfect hiding spot from which to watch and wait.

He’d caught sight of Victarion striding purposefully towards the meeting hall, decked out in his reaver’s armor, kraken helm tucked under his arm. He had not given Robb a first glance, let alone a second. Aeron had not made an appearance yet, though Robb knew he was about, as he had seen the man earlier, dressed in his priestly garb. He had even seen Rodrik the Reader about the castle, though he was here on behalf of his sister and would not be attending the meeting. So, all uncles were accounted for except—

He felt a presence from behind, a chill on the back of his neck. Then an icy cold finger trailed along his nape. He spun, knowing half a heartbeat beforehand who he would find.

“Hello, Red,” Euron said with a grin.

“Lord Euron,” Robb stammered, taking an instinctive step backwards. His neck burned where Euron had touched it. He hadn’t been expecting Euron at all, and certainly not from _that_ direction. Nobody entered the meeting hall from _that_ direction. It was a twisting maze of dead ends that lead nowhere important. Why had Euron been lurking in dead, empty hallways?

“That hair really is remarkable,” Euron said. “I think it must be why I remember you so well.” He reached out for Robb’s hair.

Robb recoiled, and Euron laughed.

“You remember me, I take it? And my offer?”

“I do, my lord.”

“And?” He arched an eyebrow. “Have you reconsidered?”

“No,” Robb responded flatly. “If I am to join a crew, I will join Theon’s. I am his man.”

Euron’s one visible eye widened, and Robb recognized the glint of excitement there. The way his nostrils flared spoke of scenting prey. “I am sure he treats you well.”

“Very well, my lord.”

Before Robb knew to react, Euron had him boxed up against the wall, that burning-cold hand pinching his chin. Robb was not small, and knew he was not small. But he felt small in that instant, like Euron was a wall pressing in on him. “I could treat you well.”

“My lord, please…”

Euron’s fingers squirmed like cold worms up his face and into his hair, where they snagged tightly. Robb winced as Euron steered his head this way and that. “Hmm, yes, I could see it. I could see grabbing hold of this hair while you swallow my cock.”

Robb’s throat seized up. He couldn’t breathe through his fear. “I-I’m not a…I don’t. I don’t do that!” It was Rodrik all over again. “I don’t—I’ve never—I—I fuck women.”

“Ah, yes, the little whore chaser,” Euron cooed, patting Robb’s hair. Like he was a dog. “I can supply you with all the whores a curious boy like you desires. Or untouched women. An exotic beauty from every land. Perhaps even one of the savage women from Sothryos. Would you like that, boy?” He leaned his face in very close. His breath was sweet and rancid. “All you need to do is be mine and obey me.”

“Stop!” Robb cried. He tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to pull away to. Only the slick, damp wall behind him. “Wh-what if someone sees us?”

“What _if_ someone sees us?” Euron replied. “What of it?”

“It’s wrong for two men—”

Euron threw back his head and laughed. “Ah, are you afraid they’ll put a hot iron up your ass? I assure you, they would not dream of touching m—”

“Get your hands off him!”

Robb felt himself shoved as Euron was shoved off him. His back hit the wall. Euron stumbled back before taking a fist to the face from Robb’s savior. In the dim light of the hall, it took Robb a second to recognize Theon, just as it took Theon a second to recognize Euron. He stopped, fist raised for another punch, an uncertain look on his face.

“U…Uncle Euron?”

Euron glowered at him. “Little Theon.” He ran a hand over the side of his face Theon had struck. Robb couldn’t tell how much damage had been dealt, not in the low light. “Is that any way to greet your uncle?”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Theon said defensively, but he still backed down, dropped his fist. “You were exiled.”

“Your father’s ruling died when he died.” And just like that, Euron’s grin was back. “Your friend and I were merely speaking, you know.”

“He doesn’t have my permission to speak to you,” Theon said. If Robb could even think over the racing of his heart, he might have rankled at the idea that he needed Theon’s permission for anything. “Robb, leave us.”

Robb just nodded, glad for an excuse to leave.

As he turned to go, Euron grabbed hold of his wrist and jerked him back. “Now, what authority do you have over this boy, to tell him whom he can and cannot speak with?”

“He’s my father’s ward.”

“Then he’s an orphaned ward. I say Robb Snow can speak to whomever he wants.”

“He doesn’t _want_ to speak with you,” Theon said, and perhaps it was Robb’s own fear coloring the situation, but Theon seemed bolder.

“And what if I wish to speak with him? Surely you would not presume to order _me_ about, would you, little Theon?”

Theon’s face hardened. “And what if I do?” His grip was strong as he grabbed Robb’s other wrist and jerked—a moment where Robb felt like a tugging rope caught between two children, then coming loose from Euron’s grip and crashing into Theon’s chest. Strong arms curled around him. “You don’t talk to him, you don’t touch him. Is that understood?”

Robb looked over his shoulder, was shocked by the shocked expression on Euron’s face. The old reaver quickly collected himself though, his slack jaw turning to a gleeful grin.

“You certainly have bigger balls than Maron, I will give you that.” His lip curled into a sneer. “But only the Lord of the Iron Islands commands me, and I see no Driftwood Crown on your head.”

“I see none on yours either,” Theon shot back.

“Well…that is the matter we’re here to discuss, now, isn’t it?” He gestured down the hall, to where the heavy oaken doors to the meeting hall beckoned them. “Perhaps Maron will be deemed fit to rule. Or perhaps there will be a Kingsmoot. And perhaps I will toss my glove into the ring, and perhaps the Ironborn will deem me most fit to rule. Perhaps _you’ll_ be the one on your knees for me before too long.”

Despite the obvious, and horrific, insinuation, Theon didn’t balk but instead answered levelly, “That is a lot of _perhaps_.”

“That _is_ a lot of _perhaps_ ,” Euron agreed. “But it has been a long, strange event of _perhaps_ that has led us here, hasn’t it?” He turned and strode towards the meeting hall, calling over his shoulder, “We second sons live on _perhaps_ , don’t we, boy?”

The minute he disappeared into the meeting hall, Robb jumped back. He could have stayed in Theon’s arms much longer—maybe forever—but it would not do to be found in such a compromising situation. Because he understood now. Why Euron was so bold while they had to be so careful. It had nothing to do with two men; it had everything to do with domination and conquering and subduing. It was the affection that was unbearable to them.

He thought he might be sick.

“Are you alright?” Theon asked.

Robb looked up and found the other boy was trembling, perhaps even harder than he was. Theon had always been terrified of Euron, especially. To have stood up to him, to have raised his voice, to have punched him… A swell of that forbidden affection swept over Robb, and he thought he might cry.

Theon mistook his silence. “Did he hurt you?” he asked, alarm in his voice.

Robb shook his head. “No. Thank you for coming when you did.”

“I didn’t know it was him at first. I saw someone cornering you and…” His hand shook terribly as he ran it through his hair, eyes scanning the floor as he thought. “Euron thinks to rule the Iron Islands. Nobody in their right mind would choose a madman like him. When Maron is on the Seastone Chair, I will speak to him about reinstating Euron’s exile.”

“Theon.”

Theon looked up.

“You were very brave.”

That put a small, shy smile on Theon’s face.


	26. Ceremonies and Censure

Theon took a deep breath to steady himself. He couldn’t go into the meeting shaking like a flag in the wind. His heart was still thumping like a racing horse. He’d…spoken back to Euron. _Challenged_ him. Struck him. He was amazed he was still alive.

Despite what Robb thought, it hadn’t been a matter of bravery. It had been a matter of acting before his brain could stop him. If he’d listened to his brain, he would have run, so in that instant, Robb had depended on him _not_ thinking. But now his mind was back and he knew Euron would retaliate. But how and when? Was this the terror Maron lived with, thinking of all the possible ways in which Euron could strike?

To disguise the trembling on his hands, he tucked them behind his back as he entered the meeting hall. Already inside waiting: Maron, Asha, Victarion, and, of course, Euron. Theon went to join them around the table. In the better light of the lanterns, he could see the redness of Euron’s cheek where he’d hit him, his good eye starting to swell. Maron’s face, on the other hand, was pale. Very pale. So, he had not been expecting their exiled uncle to make an appearance either.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “You’re supposed to be banished. Who let you in?”

“I let myself in,” Euron said.

“No.” Maron jabbed an imperious finger at him from across the table. “Father banished you. You must remain banished. As Lord of the Iron Islands, I command it!”

Euron chuckled. “But you’re _not_ Lord of the Iron Islands. Yet.”

“I am Father’s heir. The Seastone Chair is mine by rights. Everything else is just a formality.”

“The old ways are not ‘just a formality,’” Victarion grumbled. He glared hatefully at Euron.

“Fine, then let’s get on with it.” Maron smacked the table. “Where’s Aeron?”

“I’m here.”

They all turned to see Aeron in the doorway. He robes and matted hair were soaking wet.

“Praying, dear brother?” Euron asked.

Aeron did not flinch, so perhaps he had been expecting Euron where the rest of them had been caught off guard. He nodded to the guards, who exited the room and closed the doors behind them. Sealing them all in. They had had these meetings together for years, but for some reason, it now felt claustrophobic to be locked in with these people. Especially as the sun was beginning to set outside.

“Let us begin,” Aeron said.

“Very well.” Maron cleared his throat. “I am Father’s rightful heir, and both Asha and Theon have agreed to back me.” He gave them both a warning glance. Theon had no plans to challenge his brother, and he doubted Asha did either. “What of you, Nuncle?” He looked to Victarion. “Will you back me?”

Victarion folded his arms. “I backed Balon. He vowed he would bring us back to the old ways, build our strength. And yet he did neither.”

“I intend to make us strong again,” Maron declared. “I would—”

He stopped short when Euron held up a hand.

“Now, I am just newly arrived, but I had heard some concerning talk down by the wharfs.”

“You don’t believe that nonsense,” Asha scoffed.

“I have heard it too,” Victarion muttered. He cast an apologetic look towards Maron, or at least as apologetic as someone like Victarion was willing to appear. “I put no stock in it, Maron, and I punish any man I catch speaking it. And yet…”

“And yet the smallfolk will talk,” Euron finished. “They will not accept a kin killer for a king.”

“I am no kin killer!” Maron cried.

“Perhaps a Thing would be best,” Asha said.

Maron stared at her as if she’d just put her knife in his back.

“It would give you a chance to address the common people,” she said, “allay their fears and put these rumors to rest.”

“No, absolutely not!” Maron brought his fist down on the table hard enough to rattle it. “I don’t answer to the common people, and if I start my reign by appealing to them, they will rightfully see me as weak. Uncle Aeron will hold my coronation tomorrow. Unless anyone here wishes to speak against me.” His eyes roved over everyone, suspicious.

But nobody spoke.

“Good.”

 

***

 

Aeron did arrange for the coronation, and they all gathered at the beach as the early morning sun broke over the barren rocks.

The women stood off to one side—Alannys, with tears in her eyes, Asha, and Maron’s wife, Barra of House Blacktyde, a woman so plain in appearance, demeanor, and personality that she blended into the background wherever she went. So far she had not successfully borne Maron an heir.

Theon was left to stand between Victarion and Euron, the latter of whom had developed quite the bruising around his eye where Theon had struck him. With his good eye almost swollen shut, it was a wonder he could see anything. Still, Theon was glad he’d told Robb to hang in the back of the crowd, and Robb had been only too happy to agree.

A large group had gathered. Theon only had vague recollections of his father’s coronation—he remembered his grandfather’s funeral much more clearly—but he didn’t remember this many people there. Of course, the noble Houses had come to pay their allegiance to the new Lord of the Iron Islands—Blacktyde, Harlaw, Botley—but there was an even greater number of smallfolk. The air was tense.

Overhead, seagulls flew in lazy arcs on the sea breeze. Theon watched them, unease building in his stomach. Something was wrong.

Maron stood on the beach, dressed in plain breeches and tunic, bare feet digging into the sand. The sand on the Iron Islands was not soft, but made of rocks and broken shells. Theon had returned from many a swim with the soles of his feet cut and bleeding.

Next to him, Aeron raised his arms. “We gather in sight of the Drowned God to witness Maron Greyjoy take on mantle of Lord of the Iron Islands, Holder of the Seastone Chair and Driftwood Crown.”

“Kin killer!” someone yelled.

From out of the crowd, a rock flew. It fell well short of Maron, but the guards reacted as if he’d been struck, pushing into the crowd, looking for the instigator.

Maron’s face turned a violent red. “Who threw that!?” he cried. “I demand to know who threw that!”

The smallfolk pushed back against the guards, and more cries of, “Kin killer!” and, “Coward!” filled the air.

Maron took a step towards them, hands curled into fists, as if he meant to fight them himself, barehanded. “Who dares call me ‘kin killer’ and ‘coward?’ If you are a man, you will accuse me to my face!” His voice cracked, and he was left sputtering the rest.

Next to Theon, Euron chuckled and hid his grin behind his fist. Theon’s gut plummeted.

Maron regained his voice somewhat, though it still sounded as if he were trying to speak around a fish in his throat. “You wish to stand here, in the sight of the Drowned God, and accuse me? _You_ are the cowards. I tell you, I did not murder my father, and if I am lying, may the Drowned God not revive me. May I drown in His waters today, in the sight of all of you! Let that be my trial, unless one among you desires to bring witness against me!”

There was a new stirring in the crowd.

“I cannot keep my tongue any longer.” Baldrik Blacktyde, Barra’s brother, stepped forward.

His father, Baelor, grabbed his shoulder and tried to pull him back, but Baldrik shrugged him off.

“No, Father, I cannot remain silent before you and the people of the Iron Islands and the Drowned God Himself.” The young man cast his finger towards Maron. “I saw it with my own eyes, from the high window. You met your father at the bridge. You quarreled. He dismissed you, and when his back was turned, you pushed him from the bridge.”

A low murmuring spread across the beach.

Maron curled his lip in distaste. “You saw nothing. I was not there that night.”

“I did see you. The two of you were fighting loud enough to be heard over the storm. Or do you think I don’t know my own good-brother’s voice.”

“You are a liar! I should have your tongue cut from your head!”

“He’s not a liar.” Barra took a tentative step forward, her head and eyes kept low. Her voice could hardly be heard over the gentle lapping of waves on the beach. “I do not wish to go against my lord husband, but I feel that I, too, can no longer remain silent. I remember that night. He came to bed soaked from the rain. He told me Balon would no longer stand in the way of his plans. This was before anyone even knew Lord Balon had fallen.”

“You…” Maron’s face had turned from red to purple. “You lying whore!” He launched himself at her. She screamed as he clawed his way up the beach, but two men grabbed him before he could reach her. They hauled him back, spitting and cursing like an angry cat. “Get your hands off me! I am Lord of the Iron Islands!”

The crowd erupted.

“Kin killer!”

“Murderer!”

“Coward!”

The guards jumped to action. With cries of, “Stand back!” they drew their weapons. Several smallfolk at the front of the crowd took cuts, but Theon couldn’t see if anyone had been killed. He was doubly—nay, triply—glad Robb was in the back, and hopefully he’d been smart enough to flee the scene as soon as the crowd turned.

Someone grabbed Theon’s shoulder. He recoiled, until he realized it was a guard, pulling him away from the mob. “My lord, come with me. We need to get you out of here.”

Euron’s laugh cut through the angry screaming all around them. “Whatever for? It’s not _us_ they mean to kill.”

Did they mean to kill Maron? Theon wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

He saw Baldrik grab Barra and shuffle her off with the other Blacktydes. Asha pushed Alannys behind her and drew a dagger from her boot, even though those in attendance were not allowed to have weapons on them for the coronation. None of the crowd got near them, though. The guards had the rabble rousers subdued in short order, though a few angry accusations still floated on the breeze.

For a long time, nobody said or did anything. The air was as tense as ever. Maron looked like he wanted to either run into the sea and disappear or else murder every single last one of them. He did not cut a particularly regal figure, standing half behind Aeron, color slowly receding from his face.

“I think it’s clear,” Euron said, lifting his voice and his hands to be heard, “that there is some question about the legitimacy of this crowning. The old ways say that when our law is broken, justice must be done.”

“Thing!”

The cry was taken up, and soon the crowd began a steady chant.

“Thing, Thing, Thing!”

 _This is insane_ , Theon thought, and he cast a look towards Baldrik and Barra. Doubt had been building in him since he’d arrived on Pyke and first heard the rumors, but now he was certain. Balon _had_ been murdered. But not by Maron.


	27. Testimony and Trials

“What does this mean?” From the windowsill, Robb swung his legs back and forth, a nervous, childish gesture. “I mean…for you?”

He watched Theon pace along the floor, one end of the room to the other. “If Maron loses his trial, I’ll be the only one standing in the way of Euron taking the Seastone Chair.”

Robb’s heart clenched. His feet stopped swinging. “Do you want to be Lord of the Iron Islands?”

Theon was quiet, still. “I don’t know. I never thought I’d be in a position to.”

“If you become Lord of the Iron Islands…” Robb cast a glance towards the open doors. Nobody was passing by, but he still needed to choose his words carefully. Always careful. “We can’t have our ship.”

“If I abdicate the throne, there will be a Kingsmoot to decide a successor. And Euron will likely be chosen.”

Robb’s skin prickled where Euron had touched him yesterday. “So what?” he said. “We’ll get our ship and leave before he has any control over us. We’ll run away and never see him again.”

“Robb.”

“We could leave tonight.” Robb swung his legs and hopped down from the sill. “Take just what we need, hire a ship to take us to one of the smaller islands. We can disguise ourselves and hire a crew and—”

“Robb!”

Robb realized he’d begun pacing in Theon’s place.

“If we run, Euron will take it as a challenge. He’ll hunt us down. Any sea, any land we go to. Nowhere will be safe. We’ll always be looking over our shoulder, just like Maron.”

Robb felt the truth of Theon’s words, but it was so bitter.

“The only way to beat Euron is to make sure he never gets the power he wants.” Theon paced to the window and leaned his elbow against the pane, staring out and down. “I think Maron’s right. I think Euron did kill Father.”

“You think he’s orchestrated this whole thing?” Robb asked, though he’d suspected on his own for a while now.

“And he’s brought the Blacktydes in to paint Maron as the culprit, to cast doubt on his legitimacy and force a Kingsmoot.”

“He’s done a good job of it, then,” Robb said, remembering the moment he’d been sure the coronation would turn into a riot.

Theon abruptly pushed back from the window, turned and offered a reassuring smile. “Who knows? Perhaps Maron will turn up a witness in his favor, someone to provide an alibi. If so, then there’s nothing to worry about.”

Robb did not feel reassured at all, though. “Perhaps,” he agreed, struggling to sound even half-hearted. “Maybe we could testify?”

Theon reaction was immediate. He grabbed Robb by the shoulders and shook, hard. “No,” he said. “You don’t draw his attention, understand?”

“But maybe our testimony could convince—”

“—them of what?” Theon finished. “We weren’t even here when Balon died. If we throw our lot in with Maron, he’ll just drag us down with him. We’ve already roused Euron’s ire against us. I wouldn’t have you out there, speaking against him in public. It would be as bad as putting a marksman’s bull’s-eye on you. You must keep your head down. _Do you understand_?”

Robb nodded, though it rather felt like he was already wearing a bull’s-eye. Theon even more so.

“In the meantime,” Theon said, loosening his overly tight grip, “if he lays a hand on you again, I will take _his_ hand. The old ways condemn kin killing. They say nothing about maiming.”

 

***

 

Robb had never attended a proper Thing before. Things were usually held for the common folk; the Lord of the Iron Islands would oversee matters when a member of one of the Houses was involved, such as with Euron’s banishment. But…there currently _was_ no Lord of the Iron Islands.

It was much larger than he’d expected. Theon had told him a Thing usually only consisted of twelve overseers, plus the accuser and the accused, and was not open for public viewing. And yet here he sat, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with Theon by other attendees on all sides, looking down on the thirty-six jurors, comprised of longship captains and other nobles from the Islands.

In all his years on the Iron Islands, Robb had never been _hot_ , but with all the bodies pressed together, the heavy breathing, the sweat, the closed-in walls of the great hall…he felt as stifled as he’d ever been in King’s Landing. He desperately needed air. But he desperately needed to know Maron’s fate—it would decide his own.

He hated it. Hated that he was once again dependent on someone else’s judgment. First his father, found guilty of taking up arms against the King, leaving Robb without a home and without a family. Now Maron, the boy who had so gleefully tormented him as a child, whose guilt might yet take everything he had left away from him—the future he and Theon had planned together, even Theon himself.

He glanced to Theon, felt the solidity of their shoulders together. _I won’t lose you_ , he thought with renewed determination and closed his eyes to pray to the Old Gods, to the Drowned God, even the Seven his mother had worshipped—whoever could hear him out here on these desolate rocks.

Baldrik Blacktyde testified first. Maron watched from off to the side with a look of utter hatred. Robb could not remember seeing a look of such _hatred_ on his tormentor’s face in all the years he and Rodrik had bullied him, shoved him down stairs, yanked his arm so badly they’d dislocated it. He realized with a start that neither of them had hated him, even as they’d pummeled him until he was covered with bruises. It didn’t make him hate Maron any less. If anything, the idea that they had done those things out of their own enjoyment made him almost hope the Thing found him guilty.

“I was visiting my sister that night,” Baldrik began. “There are multiple witnesses who can attest. My ship was in port. I dined with my sister and her husband and my good-mother, Alannys Greyjoy.” He gestured to her, sitting at the front of the audience, and she gave a nod of corroboration. “I retired to my room early that evening. There was a terrible storm, you see, and I did not like the idea of crossing the bridge in the dark. Sometime later, I thought I heard voices, so I went to my window to check. And who do I see out on the bridge itself but Balon and Maron.”

“You could see them?” Gylbert Farwynd from the jury asked.

“Well…not as such. But I could hear their voices. Anyone who has heard Balon yelling knows it without question. It was not difficult to hear above the wind.”

A bit of a titter arose among the crowd.

“And what were they yelling about?”

“I heard the word ‘coward’ lodged about,” Baldrik said. “Maron accused Balon of loving peace more than the old ways. I gathered this was an ongoing dispute between them.”

“And what happened then?”

“Balon dismissed him, said he was through arguing and that Maron should respect his decision, not only as Lord of the Iron Islands but as his father. And when he turned to go, Maron lunged at him. They grappled on the bridge. Balon fought back, but he was caught by surprise, and Maron successfully pushed him over the rope and into the sea.”

“That’s a lie!” Maron cried.

“You will be silent while the witnesses testify!” Erik Ironmaker, also of the jury, roared.

Maron clamped his mouth closed and glowered at the old man.

“And why did you not tell anyone of what you saw?”

“I did not think anyone would believe me,” Baldrik said. “And I did not want to damage my sister’s marriage.”

There was some muttering about this.

The jury asked a few more questions before dismissing Baldrik and calling Barra forward. She wore her long black hair over her face, as if she could hide in it. During her testimony, the jury often had to ask her to speak up.

She more or less repeated what she had said on the beach, word for word, and scuttled off as soon as she was dismissed.

Maron was called to tell his story. “I ate supper and went to bed,” he said bluntly. Whether he was nervous or simply too angry to elaborate, he did not do a job of enamoring himself to the crowd. “I was in bed all night, as my wife could attest, if she were not a _lying whore_!”

Robb hated him all the more. The man could not even pull himself together to defend himself properly.

Maron stood and jabbed a finger towards the back rows. “If there is a kin killer amongst us, it is _that_ man. Euron Greyjoy!”

“You are accusing your uncle?” Dustan Drumm said, a notable hint of skepticism in his voice. “Do you have evidence of these claims?”

“Well I…” Maron stammered. He turned and appealed himself to the crowd. “Does nobody find it odd that death follows him wherever he goes? And each new death brings him closer to the Seastone Chair?”

“So…you have no evidence?” Lord Farwynd pressed.

Maron’s eyes roved around the room like a madman’s. For a moment, Robb was certain they had come to rest upon him, but Maron cried out, “Theon! Tell them. Tell them how Euron murdered Rodrik.”

Theon didn’t respond. Robb almost wished he would, that he would lie and tell the Thing that Euron _had_ murdered Rodrik. But perhaps he feared implicating himself, or Robb, in his brother’s death. Or perhaps he did not want to implicate himself in Maron’s madness. Whatever his fear, he did not come to Maron’s defense.

“Very well,” Lord Drumm said once Maron seemed to have run out of things to say. “We have heard all testimonies. We have heard a recounting of the laws as set about by our forebears concerning murdering and kin killing. Now we deliberate about whether Maron Greyjoy has broken our laws and is not fit for the Seastone Chair. We will meet back here tomorrow.”

The crowd left to a chorus of muttering and idle chatting. Robb and Theon were swept along with them out of the building and into the open air. Robb took a deep breath to empty the staleness that had settled in his lungs. There was no relief to it though. Maron would be found guilty and sent into exile. He felt it like a dull ache in his bones.

He wasn’t the only one. He heard someone behind them mutter, “Old Maron might as well have tied his own noose. Think the youngest Greyjoy is fit to lead us? That one’s not even a captain of his own ship yet.”

Theon tensed at his side.

It happened so quick, Robb didn’t have time to stop him. Theon simply turned and punched the speaker in the face.

The speaker staggered back into the crowd, who were only too happy to let him fall on the ground. He lay there, stunned for a moment, as the crowd began to form a circle around them in anticipation of a fight. Then he turned his head and spat a wad of blood on the ground and tried to scrabble to his feet.

“Stay down,” Theon barked, so sharply is startled Robb. “Unless you would look me in the face and repeat your words.”

The man finally seemed to realize who had just punched him. His eyes widened.

“I am still your lord, and I demand your respect.”

 The man had the gall to glower at him, but he did not make an attempt to get to his feet.

“It’s true,” Theon said, now addressing the crowd. “I am no captain. I have no ship. I am young and green compared to the likes my uncles. But I am the true born son of Balon Greyjoy. I am Ironborn. The same salt and iron that flows through your veins—through our ancestors’ veins—flows through mine. I was baptized in the waters of Pyke. I have led a dozen successful raiding missions and I have seen the blood our people wring from these stones we call our home.”

He turned in wide circles as he spoke, his head high, his voice loud. Nobody interrupted him. The crowd hung on his words. If only it were Theon on trial and not Maron. Robb had not realized he had any skill as an orator, and a strange sense of pride welled up in him. _He’s stronger than people think_.

“But most of all, I have been to the mainland, both as an invader and a guest, and I can tell you one thing with certainty. The greenlanders fear us. They fear our strength at sea. The fear the strength of our arms. But most of all, they fear our old ways. Whatever the Thing decides tomorrow, I will tell you this. The greenlanders are _right_ to fear us. What is dead may never die!”

“But rises again harder and stronger!” The crowd roared in approval.

Despite everything, Theon was grinning like a fool as he and Robb made their way back to the castle. _Maybe he_ would _make a great leader_ , Robb thought. _Maybe_ I’m _the one holding him back_.


	28. Send-offs and Speeches

Theon went with Asha and Alannys to see Maron off, even though technically no one was supposed to help or give aid to someone who’d been declared an outlaw. Alannys wept loudly and openly on the small pier, and Theon was surprised when Maron pulled her in for a tug. A man who had been stripped of his honor could hug his own mother.

“I did not do it,” he said. “I did not kill Father. It was Euron.” He let go of Alannys and turned to Theon, though thankfully he did not hug him. “He’ll be coming for you next, little brother. Watch your back.”

Maron finished his goodbyes with Asha; the two of them did not embrace either. It was a quiet trek back to the castle. When Theon turned to look over his shoulder, he could still see the skiff Maron had hired to take him from Pyke. Where would he go? He wouldn’t think on it too hard. There were more pressing issues, such as claiming his position as Lord of the Iron Islands and reinstating Euron’s banishment.

_I am to be Lord of the Iron Islands_.

His entire life, he had been a third son, the Seastone Chair so far out of his reach he had not even contemplated taking it. He supposed his ambition had suffered as a result. His greatest aspiration had been to captain his own longship and to have Robb as his right hand man.

He thought of Robb. After Maron’s verdict, he’d expected Robb to make one more attempt at convincing him to run away. But he hadn’t. Hadn’t even mentioned it. In fact, when some of the men had come up to him following the Thing’s verdict to clap him on the back and congratulate him, Robb had hung back and offered him a smile. A stretched and forced smile. The kind of happy smile that wasn’t.

_I’m sorry_. He hoped Robb could read it in his eyes.

They arrived back at the castle to the heads of the noble families gathered in the great hall.

“Well…” Sawane Botley spoke first. He cleared his throat. “House Botley recognizes Theon Greyjoy as Balon Greyjoy’s legitimate heir. We are willing to pledge our allegiance to him as the new Lord of the Iron Islands.”

“As is House Farwynd,” Gylbert Farwynd said.

“House Harlaw joins you.”

“And House Drumm.”

One by one, the captains and lords offered their support, some bellowing it loudly, others with half-hearted mutters. Victarion and Aeron joined their voices, even as Euron watched from the far corner. There was no sign of Robb. That was good. He’d told Robb to be wherever Euron wasn’t.

He wished he could share this moment with the one person who mattered the most. Robb would at least have given him the courage to keep his head high as he addressed the lords. As it was, he was certain every man and woman among them could see the trembling of his limbs and hear the quavering of his voice.

“My lords and ladies!”

All eyes stared back at him.

“I thank you for support. I will have the coronation ceremony scheduled forthwith. Once I am Lord of the Iron Islands proper, I will rebuild the Iron Fleet to reestablish our dominance of the sea. Too long have the greenlanders been allowed to forget that it is we, not them, who mastered these lands. We carry the blood of the First Men in our veins, as surely as iron and salt. We, the Drowned God’s chosen. We carved our place into sheer rock face, on our own. We did it once, and we can do it again.”

“What are you saying?” Victarion called.

“I’m saying the mainlanders have never done anything for us. Nor would we have accepted it if they’d offered. It took dragons to conquer us, but dragons are no more. The Targaryen Empire has grown weak, and we have spent enough time bowing under their yoke. I say we take our proper place, not as one of the Seven Kingdoms, but as a united and independent Iron Islands.”

A mighty roar arose.

“They will try to stop us,” Theon went on. “We won’t let them!”

Another round of hearty agreement. He saw men clapping each other on the back, pumping their fists into the air.

“They will send their strongest ships, their bravest knights to bring us back under control. But we will have stronger ships and braver warriors. And we will use our knowledge of these islands and their waters to our advantage. That’s why I’m appointing my sister, Asha Greyjoy, as Master of Ships.”

Next to him, Asha flinched in surprise.

“What? A woman?” someone called from the crowd, and a few men laughed. Asha scowled.

“A woman who captains her own ship, who has led more raids against the mainland than I have. My father trusted her judgment and experience. She will lead us to victory against the Southron forces!”

He cast a sideways glance at Asha. She glowered back at him before finally nodding. “We’ll teach those green dogs the true force of the Ironborn!”

The room erupted in cheers again, but Theon didn’t have time to appreciate it. A moment later, he felt an overly strong hand on his upper arm and Asha was dragging him from the room.

“A word, brother.”

He allowed her to pull him along until they were free of the cheering masses, out in the empty hallway. She released him just as roughly as she’d grabbed him.

“Are you insane? You cannot declare open rebellion on the throne!”

“It’s not rebellion. It’s secession.”

“There’s no difference in their eyes.”

“I need the lords on my side,” Theon said. She should understand. He’d learned from her, the way to manipulate words to garner support. “I cannot have tepid approval. Not after the mess Maron left.”

“This is suicidal,” Asha hissed.

He held up a hand to stay her. “I’ve thought about it. Truly, I have. We don’t need to conquer the mainland. All we need to do is repel their forces until they give up. We have the strongest ships and we know these seas better than any other people. We can do this, Asha.”

“What of Dany?”

So, that was her hesitation.

“You can’t save Daenerys by bringing her to a place like this.” He spread his arms, indicating the jagged castle built on its bed of jagged rocks. “She doesn’t belong here.”

“She doesn’t belong where she is now,” Asha snapped back. “What happened to our agreement?”

Theon met her eye. “You can’t marry Robb. He doesn’t belong here either.”

“What?”

He ran a hand through his hair and let out a long, weary breath. “After I have my crown and Euron is gone, I’m going to give Robb his own ship, tell him that he is a free man in the eyes of the Iron Islands and owes allegiance to no one.”

“You’re casting him out?”

“I’m giving him the freedom he needs,” Theon snapped back. “Otherwise he’ll head for the Wall or something equally as stupid. He can’t stay here, Asha.” It felt like something was clawing away at his insides. “He’s never belonged here. And when I’m Lord of the Iron Islands, I can’t protect him. Not the way he deserves to be protected. Not with a thousand eyes watching our every move.” He suddenly felt exhausted, as if standing on his own feet were more than he could bear. “I imagine he’ll set sail for King’s Landing and pick up Jon Waters. Perhaps they can pick up your Daenerys, if she’s willing to take the sort of freedom I’m offering.”

Asha didn’t respond.

Theon let his arms drop with a weary sigh. “It’s the kindest thing, Asha. You as well as anyone should know kindness is not something the Iron Islands produce in abundance.”

 

End Part IV


	29. PART V: Age of the Young Kraken

There was a dripping sound.

In a castle as dank as Pyke, there were often dripping sounds. But this one was…different. Loud. So loud it drowned out the crashing of waves against the rocks outside. Like a mono-rhythmic heart, the pulse of if filled the hallway. Robb followed it. He couldn’t _not_ follow it. The beat of that dripping sound pulled him in, and his feet moved inexorably without him.

It was coming from the throne room. He knew it, could see the door waiting for him at the end of the hall. But the more he walked, the longer the hall seemed to stretch out before him. Longer and longer, until he was running just to stay in place. His heart beat frantically in his ears. Or was that the horrible sound? He couldn’t tell anymore.

His hands brushed wood. He balked. He’d reached the door. How and when? Did the castle move? Did it have a mind of its own? Yes, he remembered thinking as a child. It moves its halls and staircases when I’m not looking. It was built by madmen.

The dripping sound was as loud as ever. He could feel it, like his own pulse, on the other side of the door. A terror gripped him. He didn’t want to know what was making that noise. It was something that belonged unseen, buried at the bottom of the ocean. But his hands grasped the handles and pulled. The doors opened with an incredible groan. Light spilled in from the outside, illuminating the thing that should not be seen.

A cry caught in Robb’s throat.

Theon was seated on the Seastone Chair, the Driftwood Crown upon his head. His hands grasped the kraken’s arms tightly—long, bloody scratches in the stone, fingernails torn from the effort. They had driven spikes through his wrists, nailed him there. His skin was as pale as the dead things that washed ashore, a white turning to pale blue. His eyes were locked somewhere far away, his mouth gaping open in an unheard scream. They had slit his stomach open, stuffed it full of squid. A hundred tentacles poured out alongside entrails and blood. A message written in that blood over the throne: _The Young Kraken._

Robb was frozen, forced to look at the thing before him, unable to move forward or back.

A hand clamped on his shoulder. Sweet breath ghosted against his ear. “You did this, you know.”

“I…did this?”

“The people loved him well…at first. But you’ve seen how easily they are turned.” He felt Euron’s sneer, lips barely brushing his skin. “It was no great feat to turn them against a green boy who had no idea what he was doing.”

“ _You_ did this,” Robb said. “ _You_ killed him.”

“No, you killed him. You let him play at being Lord of the Iron Islands. You did not convince him to leave while he still could.”

“We couldn’t run,” Robb said. “You would have chased us.”

Euron chuckled. “ _You_ couldn’t run. He only took up the Driftwood Crown to save you.”

Robb’s eyes were pulled to the grisly tableau again. Theon’s dead, unseeing eyes seemed to stare straight at him, accusing. _You let them do this do me_.

“No.” Robb shook his head in denial. “No, I…I can fix this.”

“You can fix _this_?” Although Robb couldn’t see Euron’s face, he could see his knotty hand gesturing towards the dead man before them.

“I can go back,” Robb cried. “Just…what do I need to do?”

“You _know_ what you need to do.”

Robb’s gut pinched. “Yes,” he murmured back. “I do.”

He woke to tears leaking from his eyes, down his temples, and onto his pillow. A dream. It had just been a dream.

No, not a dream. A vision.

He sat up, pushing the sweat-soaked sheets from his body. Gods, he’d been a fool. Euron had killed Balon and had orchestrated Maron’s downfall. Theon was the only thing standing in his way. Of course he’d go after him.

He knew what he needed to do now. In a way, it was a relief. No more uncertainty. No more hiding. No more waiting for someone else to make a decision. He got dressed quickly and calmly and then headed out to find the one person Theon had warned him to stay away from.

 

***

 

He found Euron skulking about outside the meeting hall. He had his forehead leaned against the rough wood, an awkward way of listening to the muffled voices on the other side. His lip twisted into a smiling grimace as Robb approached. “They are planning our little Theon’s coronation. How cute. I remember when he was a squalling child at his mother’s tit. Now he’s poised to rule over the Iron Islands.”

“I would speak with you somewhere private,” Robb said.

Euron looked from him to door and offered a shrug. “Seems private enough here.”

Robb briefly considered arguing against him, but in the end offered his own shrug. “I’ve decided to join your crew.”

“Oh?” Euron raised his eyebrows. His eye patch stretched with the motion. “I thought you were Theon’s man?”

“I am,” Robb said. “I want something in return.”

“Being a member of my crew should be reward enough.” He reached out with a hand.

Robb jerked back. “Touch me and I will scream.”

“Like a woman?” Euron sneered.

Robb tilted his head towards the closed door. “There are important men in there. They would come running, if only to see what the screaming was about.”

Euron let his hand drop. “What do you want?”

“If I join your crew, I want you to let Theon live.”

A moment of silence passed between them. Euron knew what he meant, and Robb knew he knew, but he also needed to follow the steps.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve already gotten Balon and Maron out of your way.” And Rodrik, but that had been Robb’s own doing. “You’re not going to stop there. I know you’re not. But I’m asking that you get rid of Theon in a way that lets him live. Like Maron.”

Euron stroked his beard, as if in thought. “You’re a bold one, accusing me of…what, exactly?”

“You killed Balon and you bribed the Blacktydes to testify against Maron.”

Euron chuckled. “What a ridiculous notion. I didn’t bribe the Blacktydes. I blackmailed them.”

“What?” Robb asked, shocked by the sudden admission of guilt.

“Did you know our dull little Barra was in love with a fisherman’s son before she was wed to Maron? For some reason, she and her brother were very adamant that Maron _not_ find out she wasn’t a virgin on their wedding night. I can’t imagine why, when our family has a reputation for beating unfaithful wives to death.”

“You’re talking about Victarion’s wife,” Robb said. “You raped her.”

“Oh no, lad.” Euron bared a toothy grin. At least one of them was gold. “She came to me willingly. They _all_ come to me willingly, given enough time. It’s only a matter of how much persuasion they require.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re here.” Euron spread his arms wide. “So, you want Theon to live?”

“It’s not that much to ask,” Robb stated. “You’re going to get rid of him anyway. I only ask that you not hurt him.”

“Oh, now I’m not allowed to hurt him?”

“I’m willing to join your crew,” Robb said. “You want me, don’t you?”

“You exist.” Euron leered. “Of course I want you.”

“Am I worth letting Theon live?”

“Perhaps.” He reached out again.

Robb stepped back. “You don’t get to _touch_ me until I know for sure Theon will remain unharmed.”

“Very well,” Euron said with a twisted grin. “I actually did have something in mind. Something for the crowning ceremony.”

Robb flinched.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt Theon, my dear boy.” Only a monster from the depths of the ocean could manage a smile that _unnervingly_ wide. “ _You_ are.”


	30. Drowned and Daring Men

It seemed like both the blink of an eye and a lifetime ago that they had gathered on this beach for Maron’s crowning. In truth, it had been little over a month ago.

And now here he was, standing in Maron’s place. The jagged sand of Pyke’s beaches cut into his feet, but he barely felt it. He barely heard the murmuring of the crowd. It was the ocean, the smell of low tide, and Aeron beckoning him. He waded out, up to his waist. The water was cold. It felt like the stabbing of a hundreds of needles. But he barely felt that either.

Aeron placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you ready to join the drowned men?”

Theon nodded and bent down to face the water. He did not bother to take a deep breath. It would only prolong the ordeal.

_I might die today_ , he thought. The drowned priests knew their jobs well, but actual drowning during these ceremonies was not rare, exactly. He had left Asha with instructions on caring for Robb in such an event. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Asha would be even less able to protect him than Theon.

He found his face pressed into the water, a strong hand on the back of his head. Deceptively strong. The strength of the hand panicked him. It was happening. It was irreversible. He was going to drown today.

He struggled. Despite himself, he struggled.

The hand held strong.

He bucked against it. Saltwater filled his nose. The stale air burned in his lungs.

He wouldn’t be the first to struggle. He’d seen many drownings. They all struggled. Even the strongest men.

The burning spread from his lungs outwards. God, he could feel it in his veins. And the pressure on the back of his head, and now on his back as well. He fought. Every thought, every action, everything within him swelled towards one goal: live! _This is what it’s like to be a beast_ , he thought. Except it wasn’t a coherent thought. It was a feeling. A beast-like feeling. _Fight against it. Fight. Breathe. Live._

His mouth opened. Instead of the relief of air, water flooded in. It chilled and burned and he felt every inch of it as it filled his lungs like a wineskin. He choked. His thrashing grew weaker. He felt himself slip away.

The ocean swallowed him up, and images of his life floated before his eyes. Like bubbles he could almost reach out and touch.

Sitting on Grandfather Quellon’s lap as he recounted how their ancestor had killed and dragged the sea serpent Nagga from the depths of the ocean.

Alannys picking him up and shushing him after he’d fallen and scraped his knee.

Him and Robb watching the sea life in the tide pools of their secret place. Back before he’d known he loved Robb. Or maybe he’d always known.

His first raid. The woman dragged from her house by her hair. The man screaming as he was cut apart with an axe. He’d been on a dozen more raids since then, seen a hundred more grisly things, but that first one would always remain in his mind. He enjoyed the accolades following a raid, enjoyed the challenge and plunder of it, but the killing, raping, burning…

_Maybe I’m_ not _fit to the lead the Ironborn_ , he thought. _Maybe I haven’t the stomach for it_.

And with that thought, he felt a pressure on his chest. And then seawater was cascading up his throat and out through his mouth. He opened his eyes to an expanse of blue sky overhead. And abruptly sat up and vomited up the entire ocean. A hand clapped his back until it was all done. He drew in a grasping, wracking breath, and God it hurt. It burned. But he was breathing again. And somewhere far away, someone was cheering.

A mass of people were cheering.

It grew louder as the haze evaporated from his mind. He was on the beach, stretched out on his back. He had drowned and come back.

“The Drowned God has seen fit to name Theon Greyjoy as King of the Iron Islands,” Aeron proclaimed.

_King? Ah, yes, an independent Iron Islands._

He sat up and Aeron placed the Driftwood Crown on his head. It had been a quick job, assembling his personalized crown within a day of Maron’s sentencing, but the crown had always been more symbolic than aesthetic. The Ironborn did not care for finery. The wreath of driftwood, held together with twine, sat surprisingly heavy on his head so that he felt he could hardly lift his neck.

Aeron and another man helped him to his feet. His wet clothes also weighed him down, but he managed to stand and turn to the cheering crowd.

_They are cheering for me._

_King._

Perhaps it was the aftereffects of drowning that caused his head to spin.

He should say something.

“What—”

His voice caught. It felt like he had barnacles growing on the inside of his throat.

He coughed out more water and began again, raspy. “What is dead may never die…”

“What is dead may never die!” the crowd roared back. “But rises again, harder and stronger!”

There was more cheering.

Cheering that abruptly fell away as a figure made its way out of the crowd. It was Robb, staggering like a drunken man. The guards hurried to block him, but Theon waved at them to stand down. “Robb…?”

Robb didn’t respond. His gaze was locked somewhere far away. But he continued forward, boots crunching on the rough sand, until he came to stand a pace or two in front of Theon. “I wanted to be the first to give my respects to the new King,” he said, and his voice was as faraway as his eyes.

Theon looked to Aeron for guidance. It should be the Houses who gave the first respects, not a salt son ward. But he would rather it be Robb than Gylbert Farwynd or Dustan Drumm or, God forbid, Victarion and Euron. And Aeron just gave him look, as if to say, _You are King now_. _Do as you will_.

So he did. “Come forward, Robb Snow,” he said with a smile.

Robb did not smile back. He closed the distance between them.

Most nobles bowed or knelt or even offered the sign of the Drowned God. But that wasn’t how Robb chose to show his respects. No, he grabbed Theon by the shoulders and pressed a long and thoroughly unchaste kiss to his lips.


	31. Abdictators and Absconding

The cheering abruptly turned to boos, catcalling, and angry yells.

Before Theon could even react to what was happening, a guard had pulled Robb off of him and tossed him to the ground. “What are you at, boy? Trying to sully our King with your perversions?”

Robb looked up coyly. “Your King is usually the one sullying me.”

A shadow of fear passed his face as the guard drew the cutlass from his belt.

“I-I wanted to pay my respects to the King of the Iron Islands the way he likes it.” His big, blue eyes shot to Theon. “Isn’t that right, love? Tell them. Tell them how much we love each other.”

The world was spinning and Theon didn’t know what was happening. This was a dream. It had to be a dream, right? Or perhaps he _had_ drowned. Perhaps he was _still_ drowning. He didn’t even realize he’d started to fall until Aeron grabbed hold of him and propped him up.

The crowd screamed obscenities at Robb and the vulgar ways he should be killed, either for his affront to the new King or for his “perversion.” The guard had grabbed Robb’s wrist. “Shall I take off his hand to start with, Your Grace?”

“No!” Theon jumped forward. “No, don’t hurt him!”

The beach fell silent.

He didn’t…what should he do? If he denied Robb, they would surely kill him. But he couldn’t _acknowledge_ Robb’s claims either, or the crowd would turn against him and his Kingship would be over before it even started. “Robb,” he murmured, “what have you done?”

Robb just stared up at him, chest heaving like a frightened rabbit’s. “I thought that, now that you’re King, we wouldn’t have to hide it anymore.”

How could he have thought that? How could he have _possibly_ thought that?

“Is this true, Your Grace?” Baldrik Blacktyde asked.

“Hold your insolent tongue!” the guard with the cutlass hissed at him. “I will take out the tongue of any man, woman, or child who besmirches our King’s name.”

Theon would have enjoyed hearing those words under different circumstances.

“You must denounce him,” Aeron whispered harshly. “Remember how rumors brought about Maron’s downfall. You must end this quickly.”

“No.” Theon broke free from him and placed himself between Robb and guard’s cutlass. The crowd muttered in disapproval. “Don’t hurt him,” Theon begged. A King begging. “Robb is my friend.” He cast a look down at Robb, who would not meet his eyes. “Whatever else he may be, he is my friend, and I won’t see him harmed.”

The guard curled his lip in disgust but lowered his blade. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

He could feel the tide of the people turning against him. In their eyes, he was defending the man who had publically humiliated him, which was probably worse than if their new King _did_ turn out to be a boy lover. A King who could be mocked openly was no King at all.

Theon was in no position to help Robb to his feet; he could barely stand himself. So instead he put on his best commanding voice and ordered, “Get him up. We’re heading back to the castle.”

The guard truly did not care for that. The look on his face soured, but he sheathed the cutlass at his belt and leaned down to pull Robb up. The crowd booed, threw rocks and bit of beach debris. The guards hurried to part the masses and shuttle their new King through. Theon felt even more shame as he ducked behind their shields with Robb, and he knew the Islanders would view it for the cowardice it was.

His first day as Lord of the Iron Islands—King of the Iron Islands—and he could not have cocked it up worse it he had planned it.

 

***

 

Victarion was livid, raging about the throne room, where Theon was supposed to have met with the loyal Houses to pay their respects to the new King. He swept his arm across the fireplace mantel, sending years of candle melt scattering to the floor. He tore a banner from the wall, rending the cloth and snapping the wooden pole clean in half. He then turned on Theon, and for a second he thought Victarion meant to kill him, just as he’d killed his wife, but his uncle only grabbed the crown from his head and lodged it across the room. It struck the wall with a dull thud that nonetheless caused Theon to flinch violently.

“I am glad Balon is not alive to see what an utter _fuck up_ his sons have made of his throne. A kin killer and a boy lover, and both so weak they can’t command respect from anyone.”

“Leave him be,” Asha said.

“Silence, woman!” Victarion roared.

Asha was not cowed. “If you try to hurt my brother, I will carve you up and feed you to the crabs.”

“You insolent girl.”

“Enough!” Aeron cried, holding his arms wide. The shells on his necklaces clanked together. “The Drowned God says nothing of the affairs of men, who we would fuck. He cares only for strength.” He cast a withering look to Theon. “Today you did not show strength.”

“I stood before them when they would have killed my friend,” Theon said incredulously. “How is that not strength?”

“Don’t be a fool, boy,” Victarion said. “You stood before them and proclaimed with your actions that you are no man, but like a woman—” He gave Asha a distasteful glance, and she returned it. “—governed by a soft heart.”

“I couldn’t let them hurt Robb.” Theon searched the throne room. “Where is he?”

“He is unharmed,” Aeron said. “He has been sent to his room, under guard.”

“Like a common street thief?”

“For his own protection.” Asha sighed. “What drove him to do such a thing?”

Theon couldn’t say. Did Robb truly believe things would be different simply because he was King now? Or had it been desperation? He remembered the sad smiles Robb had been giving him. Had he overheard his conversation with Asha, about his plans to send him away? Was this his last effort to remain by Theon’s side?

“It doesn’t matter,” Aeron said. “The damage has been done.”

“The damage, yes,” Victarion huffed. “And how do we repair this damage?”

Everyone was silent for a long moment.

“If it were me,” Victarion began, in answer to his own question, “I would have the boy flogged for his perversion and hanged for his daring.”

“Neither,” Theon said. “Robb will not be harmed.”

“Then you care more for your…‘friend’ than for your throne.”

Theon hesitated. “And if I do?”

Victarion balked, as if he truly hadn’t expected that answer. “Do you care more for your ‘friend’ than for your _people_?”

“My people?” Theon scoffed. “They went from cheering for me to screaming for my head.”

Asha shook her head. “You don’t know anything about ruling, do you, Theon?”

“What do you think I should do?” He realized with a start that, of people gathered in this room, he respected her opinion the most.

Asha lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “If you can’t do what needs to be done, you need to abdicate. Let someone who _is_ willing step up.”

“I can’t. What if that person is Euron?” He looked around. “Where _is_ Euron?” That fact that he did not know where either Euron or Robb were made him uneasy.

“Hiding like a coward,” Aeron muttered. He looked about to say more, but clenched his jaw shut.

“Euron should not lead,” Victarion agreed.

“You will have to trust,” Asha said, “that we will not let Euron have the Seastone Chair.”

“We?” Victarion scoffed.

“Theon is Father’s last true heir. If he abdicates, there will be no clear line of succession.”

“A Kingsmoot,” Aeron said. “The first in a thousand years.”

“Or,” Asha said, turning to Theon, “you could try to hold the throne, teetering between what you wish to do and what you know you _must_ do.”

“Would you be able to do it?” Theon asked. “If you were in my place?” _If it were Dany instead of Robb?_

Understanding passed between them, the sort that had bound them together ever since that day by the seawall when she had warned him against his carelessness. She’d been right, and he’d tried to heed her warning.

“It’s immaterial what I would do,” she answered at last. Her face softened and she placed a hand on his shoulder. “If you remain, I see you in an early grave, brother. There is iron and salt in your veins, I’ve seen it, but you are not a hard man. And trying to be something you’re not will only warp you into something you were never meant to be.”

He stared at her, open-mouthed. How was it that words said with love could hurt so much worse than any barb he’d taken from his father?

“I will have Tris and Qarl take you out to the _Black Wind_ tonight,” she said. “And Robb as well. I think it’s best if the two of you weren’t seen around here for a while.”

 

***

 

He left under cover of darkness, hidden by a grey cloak. It felt just like all the times he’d snuck out to rendezvous with Robb at the brothel. Only he wasn’t headed for a brothel, but for the docks, and he would not return by dawn.

Qarl acted as his guide. Theon didn’t need a guide, but Asha had insisted he not leave alone. And, again, she was right. Who knew what would happen if he met someone who recognized him? And he could do worse than Qarl. At least the Maid knew when idle chatter was not welcome, and the two of them made their way down to the wharfs in silence.

Tris was in charge of finding and escorting Robb. Separately, of course. Whatever might happen if someone recognized Theon, it would be infinitely worse if they saw him travelling with the redheaded boy. They would meet at the docks. It would be an awkward boat ride out to the _Black Wind_ , but he was determined not to question Robb until at least the both of them were safe on Asha’s ship. After that he would demand answers: _Why did you do it? What were you thinking?_

The docks were still during this time of night, and dark. The moon was full, but obscured behind a bank of clouds. What light filtered through was just enough to illuminate the shapes of ships in the harbor, like silent, hulking beasts. Waves lapped at the wharf’s pillars, ropes creaked, but it was the absence of sound—fishermen shouting, gulls screaming, carts rattling along cobblestones as they loaded and unloaded—that made everything all the eerier. Even the smells were dampened.

There was nobody about.

They waited near the rowboat that would take them out to the _Black Wind_. Qarl remained silent, holding his lantern aloft in guard. Theon sat down and let his feet dangle over the edge of the dock. The planks were wet and swollen, but smooth from the tread of so many feet. He could not make out the water beneath him, but he could hear it.

 _I drowned earlier today_ , he thought in an oddly detached way. _For one day, I was a King_.

They waited a long time. Theon didn’t have a sense for how long, but it had to have been at least an hour. Long enough for Qarl to mumble, “Tris is fucking incompetent,” before returning to his silence.

Overhead, the clouds parted, and new light streamed down. Theon could make out a tiny rowboat against the moon’s silvery reflection off the water. A late night fisherman, perhaps? Besides the occasional seal, it was the only thing moving out there.

His attention was pulled away by the sound of hurried feet on cobblestone. He pulled back his hood to better see the figure running towards them. It had to be Tris. He was alone. And running. Immediately, Theon leapt to his feet, and he and Qarl ran to meet the other man.

“What is it?” Theon demanded. “Where’s Robb?”

Tris bent over to catch his breath. “Couldn’t…find him.”

“Couldn’t find him?” Qarl hissed. “In his room, where he was kept under lock and key and guard? You truly are incompetent, aren’t you?”

Tris shook his head. “Wasn’t…there.” He paused to draw in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, my lord…uh, Your Grace. The guards told me he’d already left with your uncle.”

He yelped when Theon grabbed his arm. “Which. Uncle?” But he already knew. Knew exactly what name Tris would tell him. He could read his lips, even in the semi-light.

“Euron.”

Even knowing, it still took a moment to process. He hardly even noticed Tris was still talking.

“Your Grace?”

He blinked back to himself. “What?”

“He left this behind. Robb, I mean.” He handed over a rolled up bit of parchment.

Theon released his hold on Tris to snatch the note and unrolled it. He read it quickly. It only consisted of two words.

_I’m sorry._


	32. Sorrow and Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Euron. Just...Euron.

Robb looked back towards land as the grim and silent oarsman took them farther away with every sweep of his paddles. He could still see Theon’s lantern on the dock, though he could not see Theon himself anymore. Candles illuminated a few windows in the houses along the shore and in the high towers of Pyke Castle, but mostly everything else was dark. He wondered if he would ever see Pyke in daylight again. If his feet would ever set foot on land. He knew for certain he would never see Theon again. And after what he’d done, he likely didn’t deserve to.

He’d followed Euron’s orders, right down to waiting until after the drowning. Those minutes standing on the beach as they dragged Theon’s body from the waves, watching as Aeron worked to bring him back. Ten minutes. It had taken ten minutes. The relief of seeing Theon bolt upright and cough up a fountain of water had given Robb the courage to do what came next. _I’m only doing this so you can continue to live, Theon._

But of course he hadn’t known that. Robb knew he would never forget the look of betrayal on Theon’s face in that moment. He wished he could take Theon’s smiling face with him, not the confused and hurt one, begging for answers.

He would have given Theon answers. He would have told him. But Euron had not given him time to, following the coronation and its fallout. One last bit of cruelty, that Theon would never know Robb had done it to save his life, not to hurt and humiliate him. The note he’d left behind would have to suffice.

The _Silence_ lived up to its name. There was not a sound but the creaking of old wood as they pulled up alongside the behemoth. A rope ladder toppled down to them from the deck. Robb grasped it uncertainly and looked to the oarsman. The oarsman simply looked back, his eyes dull and rheumy, and said nothing. So, Robb began to climb.

Every rung brought him closer to the monster waiting for him at the top. But his hands were steady as he pulled himself along. He felt oddly calm.

At the last few rungs, a hand reached down. Robb took it, feeling the rough calluses as it pulled him up and over the ledge. And then he was on deck, with a dozen grim faces staring at him.

“Welcome, aboard, lad.” Euron stepped forward, lantern held aloft in one hand, lighting the hollows of his cheeks and eye sockets from below, and the smug, catlike grin on his face. The planks groaned under his boots as he sauntered forward.

Robb refused to flinch. He held himself still as he reached into the folds of his cloak and offered Euron the spyglass he’d leant him.

“Ah,” Euron said, taking it with disinterest, “content that our Theon is alive and well?”

Robb didn’t respond. If he’d had any doubt that Euron would keep his word, he wouldn’t be standing here now, and Euron knew it.

“Not in the mood for talking?” Euron handed the spyglass off to one of his men. “In that case, you’ll fit in just fine as a member of _my_ crew. Well then…” He made a beckoning motion with his lantern. “Let’s get you situated, shall we?”

Robb followed him to a door leading down into the dark bowels of the ship. He was glad for the two men flanking him, because without them, he just might have turned and fled. Fled where? There was nowhere to go. The doorframe felt like a mouth and the stairs like a throat; it felt like he was following Euron into the very literal belly of the beast. It even sounded like a living thing, like the very wood was breathing all around him.

The stairs led to an open crew’s quarters, with a score and odd number of hammocks strung between support beams. More grim-faced men watched him from their bunks. There was a small furnace at the far end of the space, just around the anchor’s capstan; Robb could see its glowing red embers through a crack in the hatch. An old man with tattoos covering the better part of his face sat tending it.

Euron hung his lantern on a nail on a support beam and spread his arms wide. “This is your new home and your new family. We would all like to welcome you in the traditional manner.”

Robb started as the men on either side of him moved as one, each grabbing an arm. Instinct did take over then. He fought against them. “Let go of me. Let go!” They grunted as they struggled to bring him back under control.

Something hard struck him across the face, snapping his head back and causing stars to explode behind his eyes. “Now, now…” Euron’s face blurred into clarity as his head spun. “I upheld my end of our bargain. It’s time for you to do the same.”

The men pushed Robb to his knees, pulled his arms behind his back. Euron grabbed his face, jagged, dirty nails digging into his cheeks, and motioned to the old man sitting by the furnace. The man stood and drew a glowing iron from the fire. Robb’s insides lurched.

“You know why they call my ship the _Silence_ ,” Euron drawled as the man handed him the iron. “I know you do.”

Hands pulled at Robb’s mouth. He bit down, tasted bitter flesh against his tongue and perhaps a hint of blood, but they still managed to pry his jaw open. Euron’s hand pinched his tongue and pulled it, harshly.

“I would have liked to feel this tongue wrapped around my cock,” Euron mused. “Would have loved to hear you screaming my name as I fucked you into my bed. But alas, you know too many of my secrets, boy.”

He hefted the iron in his other hand. The light of it gave his face a hellish glow.

“Welcome aboard, lad.”


	33. Kings and Kindling

Asha woke to heavy beating on her door and voices arguing.

It wasn’t too rude of an awakening; she’d been waiting for Tris to return with word that Qarl was safely on his way to the _Black Wind_ with Theon and Robb in tow. But the noise outside her door…didn’t sound like _that_.

She reached for the knife she kept under her pillow.

She opened the door a crack and was pushed aside as Theon shoved his way in, followed closely by Qarl and a stammering Tris. “I-I’m sorry, Lady Asha, we tried to stop him—”

“Euron has Robb,” Theon said, turning sharply to face her.

“What do you mean?” Asha asked.

“I mean Euron put Robb up to that stunt on the beach, and the guards who were supposed to be watching him said he left with our dear uncle early this afternoon. I’m not sure what hold he has over Robb, but I’m certain Robb would never follow him willingly.”

Asha placed a hand to her head. “If he’s on Euron’s ship, he’s gone, Theon.”

“No—”

“The best you can do is get aboard the _Black Wind_.”

“No—”

“Unless you want to board Euron’s ship and fight your way single-handedly through his men, there’s nothing you can do for him.”

“The hell there isn’t!” Theon beat a closed fist against his chest. “Am I King of the Iron Islands or not?”

“You’re not,” she answered plainly.

His eyes narrowed. He stalked towards her until they were practically chest to chest and glowered down at her. She wasn’t intimidated, but she was slightly impressed that he was standing up to her. “My crown hasn’t been burned. You haven’t told anyone I fled in the night.”

She shook her head. She’d been waiting until he was safely away.

“Then I am still King. And I refuse to let Euron continue to have his way.”

Asha sighed and put her hands on her hips, ready to hear whatever bullshit he planned to spew next. “What are you going to do?”

 

***

 

The nobles were not best pleased to be woken in the middle of the night, but against Asha’s predictions, they came to the impromptu meeting in the throne room. Most of them, at least.

“Where is Lord Ironmaker?” Theon asked, and Asha had to keep herself from bursting out laughing at the imperious tone in his voice.

The guard who had been sent to fetch Erik Ironmaker winced. “He has chosen not to come, Your Grace. He says he does not come at the beck of a cocksucker.”

“I see.” Theon, seated on the Seastone Chair, Driftwood Crown on his head, actually quirked his lips into a smile. “Lord Ironmaker will be flogged publically for his insolence.” The gathered nobles murmured amongst themselves; Asha detected a faint underlying approval amongst them. “Come morning, of course.” Theon stood and raised his voice in oration to address them all. “Right now, a matter of utmost importance has come to my attention. It involves my uncle Euron.”

Victarion, who stood in the far back with his arms stiffly folded, looked up at that.

“I have just learned that he was the one who orchestrated the shameful events you witnessed on the beach this morning. Robb Snow, whom, until just a few minutes ago, I took to be my dearest and most loyal friend, was swayed by my uncle’s hand to humiliate me in front of the lot of you. Robb Snow, whom my grandfather took in and raised despite being a foreign bastard, who supped at our family’s table as if he were one of us, accepted a gold price for his loyalty today. I never would have defended him if I’d known he had conspired with my uncle to arrange for my downfall. This is nothing less than high treason on both their parts.”

He paused to allow them to take this in and mutter amongst themselves.

“Serious accusations,” Gylbert Farwynd said. “What proof do you have?”

“The men I posted outside his door,” Asha spoke up, causing all eyes to turn to her, “say Euron came to see Robb Snow directly after the events on the beach, that he dismissed them both and said Robb would be coming with him. Both Robb Snow and my uncle have not been seen since.”

“Conjecture,” Baldrik Blacktyde called out.

Asha clenched her fist. _My uncle’s lackey to the last, you coward_.

“Perhaps,” Theon said. “But there is also this note, left behind by the traitor in question.” He waved Robb’s note in the air. “I believe shame gripped Robb Snow’s heart and caused him to write this apology to me right before my uncle spirited him away as part of their agreement. I can attest that it is his handwriting, but if any of you good lords and ladies doubt me, we can get Maester Ulric in here to confirm.”

Nobody doubted, at least out loud.

“Now, is this evidence enough to levy a charge against the conspirators Euron Greyjoy and Robb Snow, or will you continue to question your King?”

“No,” Victarion voice boomed, much to Asha’s shock. Theon’s too, apparently, unable to conceal the slight widening of his eyes as their uncle placed his fist over his heart. “Euron is surely a traitor and must be made to answer for his crimes. I will bring him in personally.”

Theon held up a hand. “I don’t doubt you, Nuncle, but the traitors are currently aboard the warship _Silence_. If we are to bring them in—both of them—we must take care that they do not slip away to evade justice.”

“My ship is at your command,” Victarion said.

“As is mine!” Asha cried.

“Mine as well!” Dustan Drumm called out, and soon the other captains were calling out their support. In a matter of moments, Theon had gone from an outcast King fleeing in the dark of night to having an entire fleet at his command. Asha shook her head. For the second time today, her little brother had managed to impress her. Perhaps she need not keep the bar so low for him.

 

***

 

Euron woke to sharp rapping on his door. Nothing new for a captain; he always slept with one eye open, after all. Despite that, he’d slept like a babe in its mother’s arms. He supposed his newest crew member had not and wondered if the boy had spent _all_ night crying and whimpering.

The look on Robb Snow’s face as he realized what was in store for him had been something, but Euron truly couldn’t wait to see the look on his face as he threw a bloodied and beaten Theon at his feet. He could picture it now.

_“You promised not to kill him!”_

_“I didn’t kill him.”_

_“You promised not to hurt him!”_

_“I lied.”_

Well, he supposed it wouldn’t go _exactly_ like that. Robb wouldn’t be _saying_ anything, after all.

He rose from bed and stretched out his arms, enjoying the sharp crack in his joints. It was that strange early morning witching hour, too light to truly be night, too dark to be dawn, and all the color was sapped from the world.

The rapping came again, urgently, but Euron took a cursory moment to dress. It was important if they were awakening him, but he would not be hurried. Not by his own men, not by the Drowned God Himself.

He opened the door to find one of his lookout scouts, who relayed what he had seen using a hand language used by the deaf in Dorne. _Ships. Coming here._

Euron made his way to the _Silence_ ’s bow with slightly more hurry than he’d answered the door. Another man waiting for him there handed him a spyglass—perhaps the same one he had given Robb to confirm Theon’s departure. Maybe there was some irony there. He lifted the lens to his eye and pointed it towards land where, sure enough, a number of ships were making to set sail, a few already underway. He made particular note of the _Black Wind_ and _Iron Victory_ raising their sails.

It could be a coincidence. Perhaps they were headed somewhere else, though Euron doubted it. He had not lived as long as he had, doing what he did, without developing a feeling for these things. _Those_ two ships in particular, leaving at the same time.

“Hold steady,” he ordered the man, returning the spyglass and tearing from the bow. If Victarion and Asha—and Theon, who, lest it be forgotten, was still King, if a disgraced one—were headed out here to start trouble, they would find it in abundance.

He made for the forecastle and shoved the door open violently, skipping down the steps with an almost childlike giddiness. He found Robb Snow right where he had left him last night, in a puddle of his own blood, vomit, and piss. The boy looked to have not moved even an inch. It was an unspoken— _heh_ —rule that no one was to touch a new initiate for the first day, not to help, not to torment, not even to keep them from hurting themselves.

He knelt down and grabbed a fistful of that red hair that had originally captured his eye. He yanked the boy’s head back, watching his eyes roll in his head. The boy was in shock. Not that it mattered. Euron didn’t need him coherent or even awake for the role he needed to play.

“Looks like the bargain’s off, Snow. Neither of us is going to be able to keep our end of the deal.”


	34. Salt and Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if I get any ship terminology wrong.

The seas were not calm. They churned, grayish green, beneath a sky so choked with clouds they obscured the pink of dawn. A wave broke over the bow of the _Black Wind_ , where Asha stood with her face to the wind. Saltwater on her face, wind in her hair—this was what made her blood sing.

Raiding along the coast just didn’t get her pulse racing the way good old-fashioned ship-to-ship combat did. True, they weren’t in _open_ open water but that hardly mattered as the _Black Wind_ pulled alongside the _Silence_ ’s port.

She realized she’d wanted to challenge her uncle for some time. She was strong enough to do it, and she knew him and his dirty tricks better than most. Perhaps it rankled her a bit that she was acting on her little brother’s orders, but the violent swaying of the ship, _her_ ship, eased the sting.

In one hand she gripped the rigging, in the other her dagger. On the starboard side, Victarion’s _Iron Victory_ closed in, and she knew her other uncle relished the idea of sinking Euron to the bottom of the bay as much as she did.

The other captains were doing their job to block the passage, should Euron attempt to flee. She didn’t think he would. For all his backstabbing, Euron was not a coward. He was far too much of a madman to be a coward.

“Euron Greyjoy!” Theon’s voice carried over the wind and waves. He looked, well, not fierce, but at least commanding in his armor, the Greyjoy kraken emblazoned across the chest plate, hair wild under the Driftwood Crown. Tris and Qarl crouched by his side, readying the planks for boarding. “You have been accused of treason. Will you come quietly and answer for your crimes, or will you continue to defy your King?”

As the both of them had suspected, there came no reply from the _Silence_. She scanned the deck but could see no sign of activity. “He wants to lure us aboard, brother,” she called to Theon. “I say we give him what he wants.”

“Euron Greyjoy!” Theon hollered. “Prepare to be boarded! And men, remember, Robb Snow is not to be killed or harmed. It was _me_ he humiliated with his actions, at my uncle’s behest. It will be _me_ who administers a fitting punishment.”

With a swinging motion of his arm, he gave the order for the boarding planks to be lowered. Up and down the two ships, the heavy planks fell into place. Metal spikes bit into wood, locking them together. _You’re cornered now_ , _Nuncle_ , Asha thought. But she also knew animals were most dangerous when they were cornered.

She raised her dagger in the air as she made her way forward. Theon nodded to her, giving her the go-ahead. “Alright, men!” she cried. “If these bastards don’t surrender, send ‘em on to the Drowned God’s Halls!”

A cheer rose up, along with war whoops, as she and Theon, and Victarion on the other ship, led the charge across the planks. They crossed uncontested, robbing the moment of its gravitas. They didn’t meet any resistance until their feet met the deck, when a score of Euron’s men came streaming from below deck with their own war cries. Their screams were garbled from missing tongues, like the wailing of beasts as they met their attackers with cutlasses and axes. It was unnerving and _would_ have unnerved someone caught unaware.

As it was, Asha was _very_ aware. She ducked and weaved her way around, jabbing into unprotected knees and necks with her dagger. She made up for her lack of strength and the size of her weapon with her speed and her small frame, which made her a smaller target. Still, it would only take a stray swing to take something off of her, possibly something she would truly miss, and so she stayed close to Theon’s side, helping him cut down men to clear a path for the cabin.

“Any sign of Euron?” she called to him.

He shook his head. “Robb is our priority,” he called back. “We’ll deal with our nuncle in good time.”

Good point. There wasn’t anywhere he could go from here. Still, the whole situation made her uneasy. There seemed a suspiciously small amount of combatants. Euron had more men under his command than this. This was a token effort, a show. She gritted her teeth against it and fought on.

“Tris! Qarl! On me!”

Tris and Qarl fell in beside her and leant their weapons as well.

“Uncle!” she called to Victarion, who was flinging men about with wide sweeps of his axe. He turned at the call of his name. An arrow took him in the chest and bounced harmlessly off his armor. “Hold the top deck!”

He scowled beneath his helm, but before he could yell at her about giving him orders, Theon backed her up. “Asha’s orders are my orders! I’m going after Euron!”

Victarion’s nostrils flared, but he would not question the King of the Iron Islands. As he turned back to his grisly work, Theon, Asha, and her two men fought their way to the forecastle.

Once they had passed the threshold of the doorway and found themselves on the narrow staircase within, it was as if a candle had abruptly been snuffed. All resistance faded. Not a single soul rushed to meet them, to stop them. The sounds of fighting were behind them, with only silence ahead and below.

“Do you smell something?” Tris asked.

“Smelled enough smoke in my life,” Qarl said, and Asha agreed. Something was on fire.

 _He wouldn’t_!

“Theon,” she called, even as he plunged onwards. “Theon, watch out. Euron’s—”

She nearly jumped at his cry—“God!” She abandoned any pretense of care and hurried down after her brother. She surged forward, tearing away from Tris as he tried to grab her and pull her back. The hull was on fire. She wouldn’t have believed it, but Euron had set fire to his own ship. He meant to sink them all to the bottom of the bay.

“Theon!” She coughed as the air grew thick and heavy with smoke. “We have to get out of here. Now!”

Theon ignored her, just as she knew he would. Because there, chained to the capstan, was Robb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to warn you, we're nearing the end, guys...


	35. Flames and Finality

Theon was vaguely aware of Asha calling his name, vaguely aware of the smoke and fire. But he saw only Robb. Slumped on the floor and chained like a dog by his neck to the anchor’s capstan.

“God!”

Without thinking, without checking for danger, Theon dropped his sword and ran and dropped to his knees and cradled Robb’s head, pulling him out of the puddle of vomit and blood he’d been lying in. At the movement, Robb’s eyes fluttered but didn’t quite open.

“Robb?” Theon patted his cheek. His skin was feverishly warm. “Robb, it’s me. It’s Theon.”

“… _eh_ - _om_?” Robb’s eyes cracked open. It seemed a monumental struggle for him, fighting against encrusted lashes. Dried blood caked the corners of his mouth, his nose and chin.

“I’m here. I’m going to get you out.”

“Shit,” he heard Asha breathe behind them, but he didn’t turn to face her.

“Help me get him out!”

Robb’s neck had been fastened with a thick metal collar. Theon tugged on the chain. It had been soldered to the capstan, itself a monumental, unmovable hunk of metal meant to pull the ships’ anchor from the depths of the sea. There was no give.

Robb blinked, and then his eyes widened, as if clarity had finally pulled him from whatever haze he’d been lingering in. He pushed at Theon with pitiful strength. His lips formed the word “No,” but what came out sounded more like “Oh.”

Asha was by his side, choking, lending her strength as they tried to pull the chain loose. “Let’s be quick about this,” she said, “unless we want to end up dining the Drowned God’s Hall tonight.” She looked to Robb. “Where’s Euron?”

Robb just shook his head. “Eave.”

“Leave?” Asha translated. “You mean _he_ left or you want _us_ to leave?”

“We’re not leaving,” Theon said through gritted teeth as he placed his feet on the capstan and pulled on the chain. “Not without you.”

Qarl and Tris came to join them, but their combined pulling could not break the chain, or even budge it.

A large chunk of the floorboards gave out with a crack, and gouts of flames flared up through the new opening to the lower decks. Asha jumped back, holding an arm over her mouth as she coughed and gasped. “It’s no use, Theon. We have to get out of here before it’s too late.”

“No, I’m not leaving him!”

“This is what Euron wants!” Asha cried over the roar of the flames all around them. Her hair was matted with sweat against her forehead. “He plans to sink his ship and you along with it.”

“Then I’ll sink!” Theon shouted back at her.

Qarl and Tris looked from her to Theon to the stairwell, quickly becoming obscured by smoke. “You want us to drag him, my Lady?” Tris asked, feigning bringing his cutlass down over Theon’s head.

Theon glared at him, then Asha. “Do it and I’ll hate for you for an eternity and more.”

Asha hesitated a moment, a moment she didn’t have, so she must truly be contemplating her decision. “No,” she said at last to Tris. “Leave him.”

Tris gave her a questioning look but did _not_ question her.

“We need to get out of here right now,” Qarl said, gripping her by the elbow.

They began for the stairs. At the last moment, Asha turned and looked back. Her figure rippled from the heat, making her look like some strange wraith. Theon could not see her face, but he imagined her expression, imagined what she wanted to tell him.

“What is dead may never die!”

“What is dead may never die!” he screamed back. “Now go!”

And she did.

He felt a weak hand gripping his own, looking down to see Robb staring up at him, tears leaking down his face.

Theon ran a hand over his forehead, slicking back his hair. “Don’t talk. I know what you’re going to say, and it’s fine. I forgive you and, no, I’m not leaving. My only regret is that I cannot kill Euron before the Drowned God reclaims us.”

Robb’s eyes flicked back and forth, as if he were reading him and trying desperately to understand what he had just read. This he raised his eyebrows. “Uv?”

It took Theon a second, both to understand what Robb was saying and what he meant by it. “Oh,” he said as the fire began to crawl up the walls. It had long eaten its way to the door; there was no escape now. “I…I mean, if the Old Gods are real and they come for you, I’ll tell them to take me too.”

Robb gave him a dubious look that Theon could decipher immediately, tongue or no tongue.

“You think I wouldn’t presume to tell a God what to do?” He chuckled. Robb chuckled too. The sound was weak, but untouched by the damage to his tongue. Theon was glad he could die making Robb laugh one last time.

And then they were both coughing. Hot smoke seared Theon’s eyes and nose, his lungs as he tried to bring in breath. He’d heard stories from villagers about houses catching on fire in the dead of night, of finding bodies in bed, completely untouched after the flames had been put out, how men, women, and children alike appeared to have simply gone to bed and never woken up. Apparently, people suffocated long before the fire reached them. It was kind of like drowning, he supposed.

He forced the cough from his lungs. “I love you,” he said, his voice much more wavery than he would have hoped.

Despite the terrible pain he must be in, Robb smiled and brushed a hand along Theon’s cheek and mouthed the words back. _I love you._

There was a tremendous crack, like the explosion of thunder, only a hundred times greater, and the ship all around them began to groan like a dying animal. Theon clung tightly to Robb, remembering how frightened he’d been of thunder as a child. The floorboards under the heavy metal capstan finally gave way, and Theon continued to cling as the both of them plummeted into the fiery bowels of the ship.

 

***

 

It was over. Aeron looked out the window to the bay. It brought him comfort, but also a tinge of anxiety. Every time, in the split second before he saw the smoke, he imagined he would find it there, the _Silence_ , and that he would awake to find it had all been a dream.

The dark cloud still remained where the ship had gone down, two days after the assault. Driftwood and bits of flotsam were still making their way to shore, along with bodies. Though Asha told him it was unlikely that they would ever find Theon’s remains.

Poor boy. Aeron was not one given to pity, and he knew his nephew even now dined in the Drowned God’s Hallowed Halls. His death would be a thing of legend. The One Day King they were calling him now, Theon the Twice-Drowned.

Of course, that left the matter of who would take his place. Euron was gone. No body had been found and his whereabouts prior to the fire were unconfirmed, but even if he had the balls to show himself, he would not receive a warm welcome, or any sort of welcome at all. It was a thing of wonder, the way Theon had turned the hatred for him around on his uncle. The hatred Euron had always deserved but somehow managed to elude all these many years.

Aeron closed his eyes in silent prayer to the Drowned God. Their God was not a just God, not one who cared for the machinations of humans, but justice had been done, nonetheless.

Victarion was the prime candidate to take the throne, though Aeron suspected Asha would challenge him. Insolent girl, that one. If it came to it, he would advocate for a Kingsmoot. Let the strong decide who would lead them now.

He turned from the window. He knew he would check several more times today, until it became too dark to see anything on the water. His only regret now was that the _Silence_ would not continue to burn for eternity, and Euron along with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few wrap-up chapters are left.


	36. Ashes and Awakenings

In Robb’s memories of Winterfell, a septon had once told him about the Seven Hells, and how each one was different. One might be burning fire while another might be frozen in perpetual ice.

Robb felt the fire first, burning his skin and scorching his lungs. And then he felt the ice, stabbing into him like a thousand stinging needles. He opened his mouth to scream, and saltwater rushed in. It seared the scab of his tongue. Somewhere down below, he heard a great, sizzling pop, and the tremendous weight that had been dragging him down broke free.

He felt heavy and weightless at the same time as he floated, suspended. Might not have even known up from down except the bubbles escaping his mouth rose towards the surface. Not that it mattered. He hadn’t the strength to swim. The cold of the icy hell—the Sunset Sea, he thought, realizing he was not yet dead—sapped the warmth from him, and his pain. An icy numbness took hold of him. It felt like his mother’s arms.

 _This is the Drowned God_ , he thought. Aeron was wrong. It was nothing to be frightened of. It simply was. And at that moment, Robb found peace in Its unknowing, uncaring embrace.

Something brushed against him, something solid. He forced his eyes open, against the stinging of the seawater. Gods, it was murky. But he could see red. Could see dark, kelp-like tendrils in front of him. He reached out for them. They were soft.

A face floated in front of his. Serene, as in sleep. Theon!

Robb reached out for him. He wasn’t moving. The red—there was a cut on his forehead. A gash. There were no bubbles coming from his nose or mouth; he wasn’t breathing.

The water amplified the sound of his beating heart, as if the blood pumping in his ears was actually all around him. He forced his limbs to move. It felt like dragging boulders—four heavy boulders. Next to that, Theon felt like nothing. Robb fought for the surface.

It was like in his dream, where the door had kept moving away and away, only now it was the surface. Always jumping out of his reach, no matter how hard he struggled. It was there, and if he could just reach out his arm…

Something bumped him from below. Something rising rapidly upwards. Robb grabbed hold. Splinters dug in under his nails, but he held with what strength he had left. The rising thing did not seem to mind. It took him and Theon along, shooting upwards until it broke to the surface with a violent bob.

Robb drew in a deep breath. Then pulled Theon up. It was difficult holding Theon’s face above water with one arm and holding onto their savior—a hefty bit of the _Silence_ ’s floorboards—with the other. In a feat of strength he could not explain, he managed to drape Theon across the boards, and then slumped, exhausted, next to him. Except he could not rest.

He struggled to his knees. Every movement felt like fighting against a thousand lead weights. His fingers were stiff, and if felt as if even moving them would snap them clean in half, like kindling. Nonetheless, he flipped Theon onto his back, screaming in pain at it, and placed his ear against Theon’s chest. Although he was not breathing, his heart was beating. Robb’s own heart beat violently in response.

Flashes of the beach, the men pulling Theon from the water. He placed his violently trembling hands on Theon’s sternum and pressed down, the way they had, one-two-three, rapidly. Theon didn’t stir, but he hadn’t on the beach either. They’d worked for a long time to bring him back.

Far off, he could hear the screams of men, the snapping of wood as the _Silence_ burned and sank into the sea, but Robb focused on his task. Blood mingled with the water, slicking Theon’s hair to his forehead and over the gash there. It poured out like a fountain, staining the waters around them rust-colored. Robb paused only to press his hand to the wound, but it did little to staunch the flow and so he returned to his clumsy movements.

It felt like an eternity, like he had died and was now in one of the hells where he would be stuck forever trying to revive a drowned man, but eventually Theon’s lips parted and a small gasp escaped. Robb pulled his head onto his lap and held him while the air flowed into his lungs, much less violently than it had on the beach. For long, relief-soaked moments, he watched Theon’s throat bob, his chest slowly rise and fall as breathing returned.

Robb opened his mouth to pray, and was horrified by the mangled noise that came out. So instead he bent his head and silently thanked the Drowned God. The chain around his neck dangled over the edge of the raft. It had snapped at the spot where Euron had soldered it to the capstan. Theon and Robb had both made it through an inferno and a freezing hell, but Euron’s iron hadn’t.

 

***

 

Theon woke. Which was odd considering he hadn’t expected to wake. Or if he had, at least it would in the Drowned God’s Halls or somewhere more…afterlife-like? Not a stiff bed, covered in sweat and other filth he’d rather not think about. Voices were speaking. His head pounded. He wanted to tell them to be quiet, but it was a monumental effort to simply open his eyes.

The world spun all around him—lights, noise. He blinked until things began to take their proper form. He was in a very sparse room. A room he recognized. The afterlife seemed to be in a whore’s bedroom.

“He’s awake,” a voice said, and it felt like an awl being jammed into his ear. He winced.

A face bent over him. Aeron had gotten it wrong all along. It was not a Drowned God but a Drowned Goddess, and she was a mid-priced whore who lived in a brothel down by the docks. “How are you feeling?” Ylsa asked.

Theon opened his mouth to respond. His jaw felt like a rusted hinge and his throat felt like an angry cat had been clawing at it from the inside.

“Let me see,” another voice said. “God knows I’ve dealt with my share of men knocked senseless.” And then Ylsa’s face was replaced by Asha’s scowling one. She held up a finger and ran it back and forth in front of his eyes. “Right, he’s still in there, at least. Small miracle he managed to survive your stitching.”

Somewhere over her shoulder, Ylsa snorted. “I’m a whore, not a seamstress. Shoulda brought him to another girl if you wanted it all pretty-like.”

Asha sighed. “No, Robb was right to come to you. Thank you for taking them in.”

Robb? And then Asha was gone as well and replaced by a face Theon _had_ been expecting, or at least hoping, to see in the afterlife. Robb practically upended the bed. Theon’s head knocked against the headboard in Robb’s mad attempt to hug him. His vision exploded with light, momentarily blinding him, and when he came to, Robb was hovering over him, staring at him with the same blue eyes that had first drawn Theon’s compassion years ago.

“You’re alive,” Asha said. He heard her boots clunking as she paced. “Nobody knows you’re alive. We thought that would be best for the moment.”

Robb nodded his head.

“I found you among the wreckage,” she continued. “And now that you’re awake, you can decide how you want this to go.” She held out one hand. “I’m sure if we announced you had survived the burning and sinking of Euron’s ship, you would be hailed as the Drowned God’s own son, risen from the depths. Despite a few…rough patches…there are certainly worse ways to start a kingship.”

Theon subconsciously reached for the top of his head. He’d lost his crown somewhere during the assault on the _Silence_. He’d barely noticed.

“Or…” Asha held her other hand out, then gave a slight shrug. “Or.” As if that said enough.

And it did.

Theon looked to Robb. His face was puffy, covered in scratches and cuts. The blood and filth had been cleaned from him, but Theon knew he’d never forget that moment of finding him, of realizing what Euron had done to him.

“Where is Euron?”

“Abandoned ship,” Asha said. “Robb said it was an act of final desperation. Our nuncle knew he’d been caught and knew you’d turned the people against him. So…he tried to take as many of us down before he fled like a rat. Robb supposes he was heading for Isle Blacktyde. At least, that’s where he told his men to regroup.”

“Robb said?” Theon looked to Robb hopefully.

“Er…wrote down,” Asha clarified.

Theon’s heart sank. “I’m sorry, Robb. I…” He didn’t know what to say.

Robb took his hand and laid it against his chest.

“Now, I don’t presume to speak for Robb,” Asha said, “but if _I_ were in his place, the last thing I would want right now would be _your_ pity. So he can’t speak too well now. Lots of people can’t speak so well, and they get on just fine. I don’t know how, because he refuses to say, but somehow he pulled your dead weight out of the ocean. The two of you are alive, which is more than I would have guessed just a few short hours ago.”

It was more than Theon would have guessed as well, for the both of them. He laid his other hand overtop his and Robb’s joined ones. “Of course,” he said. “I could never be ashamed to be with you, Robb, and I am finished pretending to be. Fuck the Driftwood Crown. Fuck the Seastone Chair. I’d rather have you.”

Robb smiled thinly, in a way that kept his mouth firmly closed. Theon vowed not to look on him with pity, but that did not mean the one who had done this to Robb would be allowed to get away with it.

To Asha he said, “Who all knows we yet live?”

“Besides those in this room?” Asha spread her arms wide, indicating the four of them. “Qarl and Tris were with me when we pulled you out. Other than that…no one, I would hazard.”

“Good. Could you arrange a passage for us to Blacktyde?”

“You mean to go after Euron?” Asha sounded equal parts worried and approving.

“Let him be the one who tries to hide this time.”

Asha smirked. Definitely approving.


	37. Dead Men and Debts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost didn't add this scene. I hope it's not too rushed; it's a bit of a late addition.

Euron folded his arms under his head and he lay back on his pallet.

Sometimes your gambits paid off. Sometimes you pushed your brother from a bridge and successfully framed his eldest living son for the murder. Sometimes you found just the right bit of scandalous information to rope a powerful family into giving false eyewitness accounts. Sometimes your eldest living nephew was such a dumb fuck he practically admitted fault in front of a jury of revered elders. Sometimes your plans went smoothly, from start to finish.

And sometimes your gambits didn’t pay off. Sometimes you got a bit greedy, a bit high from your previous plan running so smoothly. Sometimes you tried to use your youngest nephew’s lover against him. And sometimes your youngest nephew was such a dumb fuck that instead of running when he had the chance, he somehow managed to turn the people against you. Sometimes you had to sink your own ship to save your skin, barely escaping by said skin. Sometimes your plans hit snags. That was fine. Life would be boring if everything went smoothly.

And so, here he was, in a dank cell on Isle Blacktyde. He had not expected a warm welcome from them, but he had not expected them to be so bold as to turn on him. They would not be so bold once he had a chance to reveal Barra’s infidelity and their shared false testimony against Maron. He regretted that he would not be able to get his hands on them to make them truly sorry. Ah, but perhaps later, when he was proper ruler of the Iron Islands.

Make no mistake. This was a snag, nothing more.

They would all pay, when the pendulum swung back around to his side. He would fuck and kill Barra in front of her brother—he hadn’t decided on the order just yet—then tie Baldrik to an anchor and drop him into the sea. Asha…he would keep his dear niece around a bit longer, truly debase her until the upstart bitch had learned her place, crawling on her knees. Aeron and Victarion…he’d have them both buried on the beach up to their necks and watch as the tide came in. Perhaps his only true regret was that Theon had perished.

His youngest nephew, the coddled milksop, the cringing brat. A part of him had always wanted to break the boy. If Aeron hadn’t always been _watching_ , he might well have, years ago. He should have. Who would have guessed that cringing brat would _be_ the snag in his plans? And then get himself killed before Euron had a chance to truly make him regret his “bravery?”

Euron snickered bitterly. Ah, well. Such was life. If one could not enjoy its cruel ironies, then the world was a dark and humorless place indeed.

He rolled over onto his side and watched the door. One of his men would be coming for him soon. They had broken him out of deeper, darker cells than this. It was only a matter of waiting. And Euron could wait. He was very good at waiting.

He awoke sometime later from a state of half-sleep to the sound of footsteps coming closer. That would be his man now. He could set the tides by it.

Stretching, he sat up and waited, perfectly poised, as the lock from the outside clicked and the door handle rattled. The young man who entered was one of his men, after a fashion, though not anyone he’d been expecting. In fact, it took him longer than it should have to recognize Robb Snow. It was the hair. He’d dyed it black.

“You could teach the warlocks from Asshai a lesson or two about resurrection,” Euron said. “Is little Theon alive as well?”

Robb didn’t respond. He pulled a knife from his cloak.

“Ah.” Euron nodded. “You mean to finish me off, then, is that it?”

Robb responded by jamming the knife into Euron’s side, between his ribs.

Euron grunted, then laughed as he grabbed Robb by the shoulders and drew him in closer, digging the knife deeper. Robb’s eyes widened, which made Euron laugh louder. He delivered a headbutt that sent Robb reeling back, pulling the knife with him.

“Aimed a bit low for the heart,” Euron said, clutching the wound. Blood flowed through his fingers. Still, nothing that couldn’t be patched up. “I must say, your vengeance is a tad pathetic. Is that the best you could m—?”

He was caught off guard by a punch to his throat. It stole his breath from him and sent him tripping over the pallet. He landed against the wall and slid down it as he gasped for breath. Robb stood over him. The lad was quite tall, and large, wasn’t he? Still, Euron felt no fear. Only a strange amused detachment as Robb grabbed him by the hair, wrenched his head back, and drew the knife across his throat.

Neither of them said anything as Euron drowned in his own blood.

 

***

 

Robb stumbled from the prison cell, splattered in blood. In one hand, he held the knife he’d brought to end Euron’s life, dripping more blood along the floor. In the other, he held a misshapen white ball dangling by a fleshy knot of gore. Theon had been listening from outside, ready to jump in should Robb need it. Robb had not needed it. And even as Theon opened his mouth to ask if he had been hurt, Robb threw the knife and bloody eyeball to the floor and shoved Theon up against the wall and attacked him with his lips.

He was still not entirely used to it, the sensation of being kissed by a tongueless man. And if he were to be honest, it was a bit disconcerting to feel the emptiness within Robb’s mouth, not that he would ever say so.

Disconcerting or not, it still felt right. As dangerously right as it had that day in the armory when Robb had first kissed him. His hands were rough as they tangled through Theon’s hair, his mouth insistent. Theon would have loved to let him continue, but forced himself to push back. “Not here,” he said. It wouldn’t do to be caught now. He tossed Robb’s cloak to him, to cover the blood splatters.

Robb sighed through his nose, but relented and pulled the cloak on. Theon stooped to reclaim the knife and eye, and had barely gotten both when he felt Robb’s hand on his own, yanking him sharply to his feet. Then he was being pulled along like a child’s toy on a string, Robb practically running down the hall.

They snuck out through the door they snuck in through, giving the guard at the door the rest of his bribe money before tearing off into the night. Theon could hardly catch his breath, his heart beating to the rhythm of their boots on the cobblestones. He wondered if Robb’s desperation in the hallway had been a need for comfort. After all, this was the first man he had truly killed. And meant it, at least. Perhaps the experience had brought back memories of Rodrik’s death. Perhaps Theon shouldn’t have let him go into Euron’s cell alone after all.

He thought about what he should say as they made their way back to their room at the dingy inn down by the docks. How he would apologize and hold Robb like he had when they were children and he was frightened of the thunder.

But when he opened his mouth to say anything, Robb instead flung him down on the scratchy bare bed and climbed on top of him and continued the assault on his mouth. He was so big and heavy atop Theon, and Theon could feel him quite clearly, even through his breeches. Strong hands, still covered in blood, reached for the laces of his doublet and _tore_.

Theon gasped. “You…you’re excited, aren’t you?”

Robb pulled back, and their eyes met. Theon could hardly see the blue in them, his pupils were that wide. But there was a question there too.

Theon reached up and threaded his fingers through the dyed black hair. “It’s only normal for your blood to be up after you’ve killed an enemy,” he said, gripping Robb’s hips. “How very…Ironborn of you.”

Robb smiled in response. And mouthed the three words—a bit awkwardly because he could no longer form a proper L, but Theon read it just the same.

“I love you too,” he said back. “Now that you’re a true Ironborn, you must act like it. Go on and give me a good, hard fucking.”

Robb obliged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: the epilogue


	38. Epilogue: Letters and Loose Ends

Asha was writing letters in her study, a tedious task that kept her from the sea and her ship, but a necessary one. There was much to do before the Kingsmoot. Loneliness pressed in on her all the more, her only companions the crackling on the fire and the scratching of quill on paper. She looked up gratefully when she heard a sharp knock at the door.

“A package just came for you, my Lady,” Maester Ulric said, hefting the burlap-wrapped bundle in his frail arms. It looked to be quite heavy. “And a letter from a…Robin Pyke?”

Asha held out her hand. Ulric placed the package on her desk and the note in her hand. Then she dismissed the old man with a, “Thank you, Ulric.” He bowed and shuffled off.

Only once the door was closed behind him did Asha break the seal on the letter and unroll it.

 

_Lady Asha,_

_You will be glad to know your men escorted me, my sister, and her husband safely to Blacktyde. We had a following wind and arrived without much issue, though my good-brother is, as you know, prone to seasickness. The people of Blacktyde were quite accommodating, and after inquiring at one of the inns near the wharves, they set us on the right track._

_Please find enclosed your order. It was not easy to come by. I lament the fact that I cannot speak freely about our exploits to retrieve it, but rest your mind that we took no undue risks. In actuality, the Blacktydes themselves proved to do most of the work. As it happens, they were in the market for just the exact item. In fact, we may have liberated it from under their noses, after they had done the majority of the work._

_My good-brother and I have enlisted on a merchant ship. Ylsa has decided to stay on Blacktyde. I know she will miss her husband and brother terribly, but she is a resourceful woman and has vowed to take up a new trade while we are gone. I have no way of knowing where our travels will take us, but we leave for the south in two weeks’ time. It is likely we will be underway by the time you receive this letter. Perhaps we will pay a visit to your old friend in King’s Landing. I will try to write when I can._

_Yours truly,_

_Robin Twice-Drowned_

_P.S. I am also returning the dagger you loaned me. It was quite helpful in fulfilling your order._

 

Asha set Theon’s letter aside and regarded the package with suspicion. If it was what she thought it was, she wondered how he’d managed to have it sent to her. After a moment, she reached for the ever-present dagger at her side and cut the twine holding the burlap up. She was a bit surprised when it fell away to reveal a glass jar. Ah, that was better. She’d been expecting a head. Instead, floating in a murky liquid, one dark-pupiled eye stared out at her.

 

***

 

Dany tensed as the handle turned and the door began to open. It clunked against the chest, and the person on the other side let out a startled ooph. It wasn’t Viserys. Dany shot up and shoved the chest out of the way and opened the door to find a baffled-looking Maester Cressen with a package tucked under his arm.

“Sorry,” she said, wringing her hands. “I was…rearranging.”

“The furniture?” Cressen blinked. “My lady, you should ask the servants to do that.”

She didn’t respond, just tugged on a lock of hair that had fallen over her face.

Cressen cleared his throat. “Ahem, this package came for you, my lady. It’s a belated name day present.”

Dany stopped playing with her hair. Her name day had been quite a while ago. “Who from?”

“I can’t say for sure.” Cressen untucked it from his arm and turned it over in his hands, as if that might give him some clue as to its contents. “The letter accompanying it was sealed with a kraken sigil, though.”

Her heart leapt up. “May I see it?”

“Well, it is yours, my lady.” He gave her the package and the sealed scroll. Just as he had said, there was the Greyjoy kraken stamped in black wax. The package was no larger than the length of her forearm, solid but not heavy.

“Thank you, Maester Cressen. I should like to open it in private.”

He blinked again. “Oh. I…I don’t suppose there could be much harm in that.” His worried expression said otherwise, but he would not go against her wishes. “You will use your discretion, I take it, when handling any…objects?”

“I will, thank you,” she said again before turning and closing the door. She pushed the chest back in place and seated herself on top of it. Her hands fairly shook as she struggled to undo the twine holding the package together. When the cloth finally fell away, she was startled to find a dagger within. For a moment, she wondered if she should have opened it in Maester Cressen’s presence. The wickedly honed blade could be poisoned, or perhaps meant as a threat. But then again, the Ironborn had different notions about these sorts of things.

Careful not to touch the blade, she set it aside and reached for the scroll. The seal broke with a satisfying snap, and the parchment unrolled itself. It was addressed to “Dany.”

Again, her heart leapt.

 

_Dany,_

_I apologize that I was unable to come back for you, and my new duties ensure I will not have time to do so in the near future. However, I have not forgotten you. Far from it. I think of you often._

_You called me a bold woman and said you would like to be a bold woman yourself. My dear, I know you can be bold. There is a storm that churns deep inside you, Daenerys Stormborn, you just have to let it out. I already know you are bolder than your brother._

_The next time he presumes to touch you, show him this knife and tell him, ‘This is the dagger that ended Euron Greyjoy’s life, and he was stronger than you could ever hope to be.’ Show him, and grip it tightly, and if he tries to take it from you, use it._

_You will never know how weak he is until you stand up to him._

_I wish you the best of luck, from one island to another,_

_Asha Greyjoy, Queen of the Iron Islands_

 

Dany looked again at the dagger. Hesitantly, she reached out and placed her hand on the hilt. When nothing happened, when she did not fall over dead, she lifted it, wrapped her fingers around it. She stared at it in wonder—both the weapon and her hand holding it. She had never expected to hold a weapon, nothing but the knives she used to cut her meals. _This_ was a weapon meant to take a man’s life. And _had_ taken a man’s life, if Asha’s words were true.

 She found herself smiling as an excited little thrill ran up her spine.

Yes, this felt right.

 

***

 

Jon Waters was reading by lamplight, a book he had borrowed from the library about the Valyrians of old and their travels across the known world. The far-off lands they had visited. In particular, Jaenara Belaerys, who had flown her dragon over Sothryos and been unable to find the continent’s end.

He was a bastard, but the blood of the Targaryen dragon riders still flowed through his veins, never mind that Joffrey Connington often told him he was more savage Northern wolf than dragon. Joffrey had once locked him in the kennels with the dogs, since there were no wolves on hand. It had taken three hours for anyone to find him. Joffrey never was punished for that.

Jon looked up from his book when he heard a light tapping on his door. Perhaps it was Elia come to scold him for being awake so late.

He got up and stretched from sitting too long and made his way to the door. He cracked it open to find a ragged-looking child staring up at him. “The man with the scar told me to give this to you, m’lord,” the child muttered, thrusting a bit of parchment into Jon’s face.

Man with a scar? Jon knew plenty of those, but he couldn’t imagine which one would be sending him letters in the dead of night.

He turned and read the note in the glow of his lantern.

 

_Jon,_

_Come to the catacombs. If you still wish to leave, then we have much to discuss._

_Kin_

 

Even more perplexing. He turned back to ask the child who had sent this, but the messenger was already gone.

Perhaps it was Joffrey, playing another trick on him. He didn’t recognize the handwriting, but Joffrey wasn’t above bringing others into his schemes. In the end, curiosity was more powerful than fear. He did bring a knife, though, a little blade he tucked into his sleeve. Not that he would dare to cut Joffrey with it—if it was, indeed, Joffrey behind this—but the sight of it might be enough to deter any lackeys he had with him.

Jon knew the catacombs well. He went there often to be alone. But he had never been down here at night. It was always dark down here, but something about nighttime made everything seem much eerier. Jon crept along with his lantern held out to light the way, scattering the odd rat in his path. The thing about the catacombs…they were expansive. If someone wanted to meet with him down here, they had been awfully vague.

Just when he began to think the jape was for him to wander around in the dark like a fool for hours on end, he saw an answering light at the far end of one of the many branching hallways. He drew close, slowly, hesitantly.

Whoever it was must have seen his light as well, because a voice called out, “Jon Waters, is that you?”

There was nothing for it. Jon rounded the corner to find two men leaning against a stack of dusty crates and fishnets. Their hands went to the blades as their sides, but fell away as soon as Jon stepped into their circle of light so they could see him, and he them.

It took him a moment to put the faces where they belonged, but once he did, he almost dropped his lantern.

“Robb!” he cried. He burst forward and pulled the redhead—now a brunet—into a fierce hug. “What—but how? I—I’d heard you were dead.” Official word was that Theon was dead. No one had been able to confirm Robb’s whereabouts, and Jon suspected he was the only one who even cared enough to ask.

“Only partially,” Theon responded, his hand almost absently caressing the angry, puckered scar that now ran the length of his temple. “Took us longer than we thought, but we finally made our way back to King’s Landing. We’re still working on procuring a ship. Normally a name would get you pretty far, but as both of us are supposed to be dead men, it’s been a bit difficult accumulating the coin for it. We did take a job on a ship headed for Braavos, however, and when we told the captain we might have another young, interested lad, he was eager to welcome you aboard.”

Jon looked from one boy to the other. “But…I don’t know much about ships.”

“We’ll teach you,” Theon said.

Robb nodded eagerly.

“He doesn’t speak much these days,” Theon explained, “but you’ll learn what he means if you spend enough time with him.”

Jon had so much he wanted to ask them. Where had they been? What had happened that everyone thought they were dead? It surely had something to do with Theon’s new scar and Robb no longer speaking.

He also found there wasn’t much hesitation in his answer. “I want to,” he said, appealing himself to the both of them. “I want to go with you. I—I’ll learn quickly, I promise.”

“Glad to have you,” Theon said, and Robb clapped him excitedly on the shoulder. “We’re set to sail in one week’s time.”

“Oh, I don’t need that long,” Jon said. “I can come tonight.”

“Are you sure?” Theon asked, smiling like a cat. “Life on a ship isn’t as comfortable as life in a palace. We thought we’d give you more time to decide.”

Jon just shook his head. “I just need to pack a few things. You need coin? I have things we can sell—clothes and such.” Clothes he would gladly never wear again. “I also need to leave a letter, for my father and siblings.”

Robb looked to Theon, who simply shrugged. “If you’re sure.”

“I am. Just…just give me an hour.” And with that, he turned and sprinted from the catacombs.

In his room, he dug out an old rucksack from his chest of drawers and began frantically stuffing it with all the valuable items he could find—fancy clothes, jewelry, books. Maybe he’d keep a _few_ of his books. He paused when he found a brooch with the Targaryen dragon in silver. Aegon had given it to him on his last name day. _“We’re the three heads of the dragon—me, Rhaenys, and you.”_ As a bastard, he should not have had anything with their sigil on it, and yet Aegon had insisted.

Aegon had always been kind to him, as had Rhaenys, but they had never been…siblings. Still, he would feel bad leaving them without any explanation, so he returned to his desk and jotted one out.

 

_Father, Aegon, Rhaenys, Elia,_

_I have gone to Braavos. I am not sure if or when I will return, but if these are to be my last words to you, I would have you know that I will always carry your kindness in my heart. I know the circumstances of my birth were difficult on all of you, but you all went above what honor would dictate, and for that I am grateful to the very core of my soul._

_Take care and do not worry for me,_

_Jon_

 

He laid the note on his bed and then snuffed out the lantern on his desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are, at the end. Thanks for sticking it out this long. And thank you to everyone for leaving kudos and comments. 
> 
> <3VW

**Author's Note:**

> I've consulted the source material and wiki as best I could and taken liberties where I could not. However, if you spot anything egregiously wrong, feel free to mention it. I'll try my best to fix what I can, and for what I can't...a wizard did it.
> 
> Comments and concrit always welcome. Thanks for reading.


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